


It's Devils All the Way Up

by LazBriar



Series: The Thief, The Spider, and the Hotel [10]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Angel Dust - Freeform, Christmas, Gen, Hazbin Hotel - Freeform, Hellidays, Holiday in hell, I'll Think Of Other Tags, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Pentagram City, Story series, Thief, Thief Spider Hotel, gay relationships, m/m - Freeform, tsh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazBriar/pseuds/LazBriar
Summary: After receiving a mysterious clue from Alastor, Thief goes in search of answers with his husband, Angel Dust.A continuation of the Thief-Spider series, following up after the events of "And That's How it Goes."
Relationships: Anon/Angel Dust, Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Series: The Thief, The Spider, and the Hotel [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286831
Comments: 49
Kudos: 55





	1. And I Shall Protect My Home

**I**

Dainty flecks of pale snow fell in lazy, haphazard patterns upon the unwelcoming old grass of an older home. A strange, alien chill clung to the air, while a routinely scarlet sky burning with the hues of pink and red gave way to the softer tones of overcast grey. The clouds were thick enough that not even the overbearing, tyrannical pentagram was visible, creating an atmosphere some might consider normal.

By the standards of Hell, anyway.

The cold season had arrived in Pentagram City. Stranger still, the _holidays._ For a majority of Hell’s denizens, it meant absolutely nothing, given that they lacked the company, resources, or even _temperament_ to care about something like say, Christmas or Thanksgiving. Indeed, such mortal luxuries and reverences were often reserved only for the elite, or at least those who could maintain a locked door at night. But, for a tidy couple on the far side of Pentagram City, housed in their old rickety estate, blessed by Lucifer’s own daughter, they made space for it. Or at least, one Angel Dust absolutely _insisted_ on it.

“We’ze gonna’ have a nice little holiday!” Angel had said, all four arms crossed and face set with determination.

“Dis’ is our first one togedda’ and I want the whole spread! Lights, tree, allofit!”

Thief had no intention of challenging this. Really, it was more the matter of _how_ did you celebrate the season in _Hell?_

You just did, as it turned out.

A “pine” tree, frayed and withered, sat defiantly in the living room corner, its thin limbs weighed down by an assortment of morbidly inappropriate ornaments, like inverted crosses covered in glitter or cherubs making offensive gestures. Multi-colored lights clung to the walls and rivered through each room, casting spirited hues upon the interior furnishings. Sounds of _Sinatra_ gently clung to the house’s atmosphere giving a surreally “normal” feel. Normal, ignoring the weed-smoking roaches in the basement setting up their own “trees” or the tall patch-suited Hellhound painting grenades in festive colors.

There were, of course, plenty of Angel’s own touches here and there. Signs that read “XXXmas!” or tinsel painted black with pink lights strew about on it. An excess of mistletoe. Lewdly shaped cookies. He was, though, clearly in the spirit, where the rhythm of the season was seen and felt in his presence. His legs gave a little extra step, his face bright with pleasant expressions, melodic hums often emanating from his lithe frame as he continued to decorate. _Happy_. And to Thief, that was more important. To see Angel content and joyous was a gift of its own.

Unlike the spider, though, Thief admittedly had a checkered history with the “cheery” seasons. Be it his own lackluster upbringing or its impractical presence in his mortal, crime-driven life, Christmas scarcely registered on his radar. It was more like a picture through a window to him, the kind of fuzzy, endearing falsehood you saw on the television where the nuclear family got together and opened boxes full of puppies and partook of merriment he had no understanding of. In Hell? Why even bother?

But _now?_ He had to admit, he liked it. Sure, the tree was a dismal thing, their house the farthest from picturesque, the snowmen outside festooned with syringes and cracked beer bottles. . . but it was still their holiday, their togetherness, _their_ season.

Thief, then, couldn’t fight a pang of guilt. His focus for the last couple of days was elsewhere. In his office, he rotated a single object through his fingers before placing it on desk, observing it like one might study an artifact. It shouldn’t distract him so, but it did. A cylinder of empty brass with a lettering etched into its side, worthless to all but him.

But he had to know. He dared not get his hopes up, but he _had_ to know.

_“. . .should see it, it’s kinda’ scary where she’s getting all these lights from!”_

Naturally, Thief turned to a source of advice and information he considered invaluable.

“We will,” answered the shadow, phone set to speaker. “I’m pretty sure Anthony wants us to visit soon. Whole holiday experience, you know?”

Hox chuckled, his gravelly voice crackling in from the phone.

 _“Well bring shades,”_ the Doberman demon continued. _“Magne girl’s been on a rampage. Hell, she’s gonna make us watch like, every goddamn Christmas special shat out since the 50’s.”_

Thief smiled and shook his head. “Oh you have _fun_ with that.”

_“If I get smashed with the Bois I just might.”_

More chuckles and they continued their banter. Thief caught up on the goings on of the Hotel, he and Angel’s old home. For now, not too much had changed, save Charlie Magne had decided to turn the Hotel upside down for celebrations given the season. She felt – since there were actual guests since the Hotel’s inception – now was the _best_ time to get in the holiday mood. What followed was a pandemic of lights and décor set to the background of whatever pirated human Christmas special she could get her hands on. Given her utter fascination with humans. . . there was a lot, according to Hox.

Thief Anon would see the beautiful nightmare for himself soon enough, he was sure. For the time being, though, he couldn’t shake the subject of his new obsession. A cryptic hint from Alastor helped not at all, and he wondered if the Radio Demon was once again causing him duress for the fuck of it. It _was_ his style. And yet, stranger than the strangest of things, when Alastor passed along the empty casing, he appeared _genuine,_ sounded it too _._ Maybe his lack of clarity came from _just_ that: lack of clarity.

Whatever the case, the conversation soon swung to the object, to which Thief pried whatever useful info he could about it.

 _“A .357 ain’t much to go on, buddy,”_ Hox mused, pensive. _“Plenty of those around.”_

“Not fresh ones though,” countered Thief. “This one’s barely got a couple weeks on it. I figure I could start where rounds like this got fired off. Not much of a lead. . .”

 _“Start?”_ said Hox, tone notably perplexed. _“Start_ what _, bud? You can’t be chasin’ after some random shit that smiley sonofabitch tossed your way. Could be a gag.”_

Thief stared at his wall, tapping prosthetic fingers. “It’s important.”

_“Uhh. Why?”_

Thief both wanted to say why and why not. He wasn’t getting his hopes up. But he _had_ to know.

“It’ll give me some peace, if nothing else. Angel too.”

A pause. Then: _“Huh. Fair enough. This ain’t some big scheme, is it?”_

“Unfortunately for you, no.”

Chuckles from the dog. “Well. Fine then. Let’s see. . .”

Thief studied the casing one more time. “If it helps, there’s traces of Exterminator metal here. Now _that_ can’t be too common, right?”

_“Depends on who you’re with. But in general? Yeah, not goddamn likely. So, a bullet with some custom work that was fired off recently. . doubt there’s a report. Not like there’s pigs to report it, anyway. But, betcha’ I can get some words on it, I know ears all around the city.”_

It wasn’t the result Thief was hoping for, but it was a start, and all he had. “I appreciate it. How long might it take?”

A steady pause as Hox thought it over. _“Not long. A day at most. I ask one guy, he asks others, they get back to me.”_

That worked. “Thanks Hox. I owe you.”

_“Yeah, yeah, put it on the tab.”_

After their conversation concluded, Thief disconnected and ruminated a bit longer. What he was imagining couldn’t be possible, right? But, what if. . . This was Hell, after all. He was married to a demonic mobster spider, for Lucifer’s sake. Stranger events had happened. Before he could think on it longer, though, said spider poked his head through the door.

“Ey!”

Thief’s eye snapped up.

“I see you’ze, slackin off!” chided Angel Dust, shoving the door open. “C’mon! Ya’ ain’t hidin’ in here all day, come help me hang up the rest of the lights in d’hall!”

“You have _more?”_ smirked Thief, stowing the casing away. “Where’d you even get all these lights?”

“None of yer business!” huffed the spider, crossing his arms while a spare hand wiggled for Thief to come. “Now lets _go!”_

-*-

The evening finished out with Thief Anon and Angel hanging decorations where appropriate. Admittedly it was nice watching their home come together in such a festive way. It meant that they were safe, and had the capacity to actually celebrate something. Many demons and sinners weren’t even remotely as lucky, and Thief took this fact to heart. He was incredibly grateful, especially to share such a special time with someone he loved. Heck, even Mynerva’s small touches like wearing a stained Santa or the roaches putting up weed-leaf ornaments had its own charm.

But once they finished and settled in for bed, Thief found himself staring at the ceiling. Angel didn’t have trouble falling asleep, but Thief? He couldn’t. His mind was busy. He didn’t _want_ it to be, he wanted to relax and spend time with Angel. He wanted to enjoy the holiday the _right_ way. He even looked forward to seeing Charlie and company once they inevitably got together for the holiday later on. But damn him, that shell casing took all his focus.

Because _what else could it fucking be?_

Eventually, Angel picked up on his husband’s restlessness. Or rather, was annoyed by it.

“Gmmf. Honey.”

Angel, eyes still shut, turned his frame into Thief’s body, pushing features into neck while he caressed the shadowy torso. “Go t’sleep.”

“I am,” Thief said flatly, his voice very much _not_ sleepy.

The spider offered a long, exasperated sigh, though continued to keep his eyes shut. “Ya’ think too much.”

“It’s nothing,” Thief said. “Really.”

Probably the last thing one should say to their significant when it _was_ something.

One the one hand, Angel was exhausted and wanted to get back to sleep. On the other three, something was _really_ bugging Thief, and he had a feeling he knew what it was about. “Just tell me.”

Thief hesitated. Christ among the dead, what did he even say? Where did he even start? Because what he _wanted_ to say, what stuck in his mind, what addled his very soul was a hope beyond hope. It was a thing that defied imagination, and one that – were he wrong – might stir up more needless anguish. He didn’t want that for himself, and _certainly_ not his husband.

“It’s just. . . I mean. Ah, just want to see something, is all. I was talking with Hox about it.”

Angel continued to rub his husband’s chest. “Uh huh.”

“He’s gonna’ get back to me,” Thief went on. “And when he does, I want to follow up on it.”

Now, Angel opened his mismatched eyes. “ _Honey.”_

“I’m not trying to steal something!” said Thief in defense.

“Then what?”

Thief shook his head, normal arm coming to curl with Angel’s own. “I don’t even know, exactly. An answer to a question.”

“It’s justa’ dumb bullet,” said Angel with a yawn.

Thief closed his eye. “I hope so.”

-*-

Hox’s follow up came the proceeding day while Angel and company gave a finishing touch to the house. At first, Hox explained there were hundreds of demonic vagrants who ran with a weapon capable of spitting .357 caliber rounds. However, he went on to say that a majority of them weren’t designed to fire Seraphic metal. But it got “better.” Hox used some of his contacts, specifically black-market dealers who could get their tendrils on Exterminator weaponry (or similar), to talk about custom rounds. As it turned out, .357 bullets – the kind Alastor handed off – were even rarer, because they were harder to make and keep stock of. It wasn’t _impossible,_ it just wasn’t useful for street level violence and crime.

 _“The only kinda’ fellas runnin’ around with that are ritzy demon fucks who like flashing big guns,”_ Hox said in call.

_“Or. . .”_

Hox proceeded to explain there was one dealer who had an order for custom hollow points using Seraphic material. But it wasn’t just that: these hollow points were modified _enough_ that, even though they were .357 caliber, they were adjusted so they could only be fired off by _one_ specific type of gun. Said firearm was _not_ listed as sold by any dealer, only the ammunition. The conversation continued, and it translated to the mystery weapon making a specific sound when fired off, among other unique characteristics.

Thief’s grip tightened the longer he listened, his heart racing.

 _“Two johns got brained not too long ago, right when deer boy showed you the casing,”_ Hox said. _“They were part of some crew, a couple of fucks trying to expand territory. Point is, permadeath, shot by the same kinda hollow-points I found out about.”_

Thief nodded, phone to ear. He looked out his office window to the snowy exterior as flecks of pearl dominated the Pentagram City horizon.

“And?”

_“Ain’t got much else buddy, except where it happened. You remember the old Commission building?”_

Thief paused, a bitter feeling in his throat. How could he forget? “Yeah.”

_“Happened in front of it. Best shot I can give you.”_

It wasn’t much, but given the circumstance, still invaluable as a lead. “It’s more than enough,” Thief conceded. “Thanks, Hox.”

 _“Pay me back at the get together,”_ Hox chuckled.

Their conversation concluded as Thief set the phone down. It was this or nothing else. He had to go and find out for himself. But find _what,_ exactly? Study the bodies that likely weren’t there anymore? Stare at the old Commission building? He didn’t know, and it was the lack of knowledge that truly bothered him.

Apparently, Angel sensed his need, too. When Thief turned to leave his office, the spider was waiting at the door frame, arms crossed.

There was a moment of silence. Then: “I. . . need to see something.”

The spider sighed. “I’ll get m’coat.”

Snow kicked off from the road as the pair entered the _Boss,_ the Mustang 429 that roared to life and sent a rumble of sound throughout the otherwise quiet midday air. It sped down the road as patterns of snow fell over the city, caking everything in a film of white powder. A strange thing to see, something Thief could never get used too. Snow in Hell? There had to be a proverb about that. Granted, it was _cold_ in a terrible sort of way, the kind of temperature that killed. If you weren’t inside by night’s end, you were dead frozen next morning.

The ride towards Thief’s intended destination was quiet. Angel was busy tapping away at his Hellphone while Thief was stuck in thought. He didn’t know what to expect, what he might see, or fuck, what to even do. He just hoped it would all click together once they arrived.

Half an hour later, Thief angled towards a place old and unpleasantly familiar. Even from blocks away, you could still make it out. A stoic, black pillar jutting out against the city, lightless windows long dead and devoid of activity. Its front steps once occupied by affluent sinners and demons of great power were overwhelmed with filth, a blitz of graffiti painting its exterior. Brush, grass, and weeds blossomed with fearsome overgrowth while the front doors were boarded shut – though there were visible and obvious attempts to break through.

If you focused hard enough, you could also see the remains of a dead machine crowning its top. Thief preferred not to.

Once close, he parked a block away for safekeeping before exiting the vehicle. “Wait here,” he said to a sitting Angel, who glanced at him and snorted.

“Bitch, ain’t waitin’ nowhere,” Angel shot back. “Comin’ with you.”

The shadow dared not argue as they exited and locked the car. Once exposed, the windy, snowy cold overtook them married to the noise of the city. Both Thief and Angel were wrapped tight, wearing double layers of warm clothes. Thief was in a suited overcoat which hid his frame, and Angel matched this, though his wearing was a deep purple complimented with perfume.

Angel recognized where they were, frowning. “. . .what are we doin’ here?”

Thief made his way towards the Commission courtyard, which was a miserable picture of what it used to be. “Trying to find something,” he answered. “Anything.”

The spider stared at the ominous structure ahead of them as snow fell on his shoulders. The pang of unpleasant memories flooded back. “I don’t wanna’ be here.”

Thief gave a long sigh. “Neither do I. Just give me a minute.”

“Why?” said Angel. “Cause’ smiles gave ya’ some fuckin’ bullshit? Y’figure he’s just fuckin’ with us, don’t you?”

Thief said nothing, instead venturing closer to the courtyard as he trained his eye around, searching for. . . well, anything. Clues? Evidence? It didn’t take long to spy where the demons were shot, their burned, skeletal remains visible on the ground – save they were covered with snow. The Seraphic round had scorched them, leaving behind unpleasant residue.

“Hey!” barked Angel. “Don’t ignore me!”

“I’m not,” intoned Thief. “I’m just looking, that’s all.”

Angel huffed. “For _what?_ You really wanna’ remember dis shit? What happened?”

Thief said nothing, studying the bodies. They yielded no answers, really, only that they confirmed what Hox was talking about.

The spider’s aggravation only grew in the meantime. “Listen t’me!”

Thief looked.

“Our son died here. The fuckin’ end. Ya’ really think Alastor was tryin’ to be helpful, wise ass? No. He just wanted t’fuck with you, _again._ And he did.”

Thief wanted to say something, but was cut off.

_“Looks like you’ll be joining him soon enough!”_

From the corner of Angel’s eye emerged a whole goddam squad of sinners and demons, each bearing knives, bats, and weapons, their frames covered in ragged winter wear. Their eyes bore nothing but desperation, but their faces were stretched with eager grins like they’d just hit the lottery.

They’d been hiding, a variety of homeless wretches that spied to affluent appearing demons walking into their “turf,” and for them, it was meat and money. In an instant, both Angel and Thief were surrounded as the stench of blood and filth overtook the air. Instinctively, Angel shuffled to his husband, protective.

“Da’fuck you shitheads want?” Angel spat, in no mood.

One of the demons – a small rat-like thing – stepped forward, holding a shiv made of glass and rusty cans all taped together.

“Heheheh,” it snickered. “Hellidays came early. Money, food, and. . .” he eyed Angel up and down.

“A nice fuck, looks like.”

“Yeah,” one of the demons in the crowd said. “Ain’t that the spider faggot? The huge slutty one? Holy fuck, we hit the jackpot!”

“He could take us all and still have room for sloppy seconds!” another barked.

“Ya’ mean nasty ninteteenths?” one chuckled in response, which prompted a crowd of laughter.

“Fuck. Off.” growled Angel, preparing to summon a squad’s worth of weaponry.

The rat-fiend snickered again. “We will be soon enough, pretty thing, after we eat your john over there, bones and all.”

Thief said nothing, more agitated than anything. However, as he gave his surroundings a look, they were definitely in a rough spot in terms of numbers. The courtyard was now a ring of odorous creatures, all armed in some way with a filthy weapon. No guns, so it appeared, but it wasn’t a risk worth betting on.

“Whattya’ say to that,” yelled the rat to Thief. “Or, you wanna’ watch us run a train on this filly before we roast your guts, eh? Little show before you go?”

Angel snarled, summoned a handgun, and proceeded to squeeze several rounds into the creature’s head, turning his skull into a blossom of red paste and brain matter. This caused a barrage of shrieks and angered howls from the crowd, who proceeded to yank out their makeshift weapons.

“AGH! He brained Kurly!”

“YOU FUCKIN SHIT’, I’m gonna FUCK YOU WITH A KNIFE!”

“Think you pissed em’ off,” muttered Thief, pressing his back to his husband.

“Shuttup and start shootin’!” commanded Angel, readying to summon the rest of his arsenal.

Or, so he would have, were it not for the blinding spasm of light. The couple cried out as acid white consumed their vision, a flash of searing illumination forcing them to look away. Thief swore, dead certain it was one of the assailants launching some sort of improvised flashbang. Instinctively he grabbed his spider and covered as much of him with his own body, fearing an attack.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“GAHFUCKCAN’TSEESHITFUCKIN’GOD!” yelled Angel, firing off into the crowd, or so he assumed.

There were screams, though, surprised yells from the gang of demons. Then more gunshots. . . but they weren’t from Angel. Panic overtook Thief and he forced the spider into the ground, shielding him with his body. He didn’t know who was shooting and where those bullets were going, but he wasn’t about to let Angel get hit.

Fear overwhelmed everything, however.

“RUN!”

“GAHG!”

“HelphelpHELP!”

The demons, as far as Thief could hear, were under attack, breaking away as a series of rapid cracks split the air. Gunshots. Gunshots creating an alien, unique sound, not the typical loud ‘pop’ often emitting from your standard firearms. Every shot gave a high pitch, lethal whine, followed by the gruesome sound of metal colliding into flesh and the proceeding scream. The literal burst of meat could even be heard, discernable over the screams and yells. Then, footsteps, or rather, the rushing of legs as the crowd of attackers ran from the scene, quick as they could.

Slowly, Thief and Angel managed to open their pained, stinging eyes. A cloudy blur stuck to their vision, a fog that burned. Beyond that, there was quiet, not the kind Thief liked. The kind that indicated while yes the assailants were gone, what exactly replaced them? In fact, what the fuck just happened?

He helped Angel to his feet, holding him close. “Are you all right?”

Angel rubbed his face, wincing. “M’fuckin’ eyes feel like somebody jazzed siracha into em’! But, yeah, m’fine.”

“Are you okay?” continued Angel. “Is ya’ hurt?”

Slowly, Thief’s vision returned to normal. “No, no, I’m okay.”

He took stock of his surroundings. All he could make out were the shrinking silhouettes of running demons, along with the various dead ones lying prone on the ground. The corpses hissed and withered like cinders as their injuries pulsed with a bright orange glow, signaling they were hit by something Angelic.

Seraphic bullets.

Angel’s sight finally cleared, and he looked around to. “Da’fuck just happened!?”

A dull crunch of snow caught his attention. From the veil of grey mist and falling snow, a figure emerged through the whisper of winter.

_“You two always get yourselves in a load of shit, you know that?”_

The couple spun towards the voice. It was distorted, covered with electric static, filtered through something. No, not something, a _mask._ As the figure drew closer, their frame caught the grey midday light.

Angel trained his weapon towards the stranger. “Ya’ take one more fuckin’ step and I’ll turn ya’ chest into a fuckin’ canoe!”

The figured stopped.

Thief stared.

They were on the taller side. Their body was covered with black material, a leather jacket, various straps clinging to the frame holding a variety of firearms. Quite distinctly, on their hips, a pair of what appeared to be Deagle handguns. As for a face? One couldn’t tell, because it was hidden behind a helmet. Or mask? Both, perhaps, and said helmet was shaped with the dimensions of a wolf skull, though it flickered with strips of LED lights, as if to indicate sight.

They tilted their head. _“Nice to see you too.”_

Angel squinted. “What?”

Thief’s heart started to race. “Stop messing around,” he barked. “Who the hell are you?”

A long pause. The figure chuckled, then took their gloved hands and removed their helmet. The apparatus hissed, clicking open, until the stranger removed it.

It was a young man.

A young man they knew.

A young man that had aged, but only just so, growing into the body of a mature youth. His features were more pronounced, cut, focused. He wore a smirk, and maintained a casual, commanding energy.

“Hey mom. Hey dad.”

Angel almost collapsed. His weapon dropped and his eyes went wide as saucers, because though the speaking voice was certainly older, it was absolutely and unmistakably. . .

“Wh. . . J. . . JUNIOR!?”

“Junior? I haven’t heard that one in a long time.”

He thought to continue speaking, but found himself suffocated and utterly consumed with a six-armed iron gripped hug from Angel Dust who proceed to collide into his adopted son. Angel, in absolute disbelief, wailed and cried as he clung the young man close, as though he might disappear in a cloudy winter fog.

Angel spoke but it was an indiscernible mess of words, tears gushing down his face.

“Ghhghg, shit! I missed you too, mom!” wheezed Junior.

Thief took off his hat, staring, in a zoned-out moment of disbelief.

There was no mistaking it. That was his son, alive and well. Older, somehow, much older. But still him.

In a brief moment of mercy, Angel broke his embrace and held Junior’s face with gloved hands. “YER’

COMIN’ HOME!” he commanded.

Junior chuckled, taking a thumb and wiping Angel’s face. “Mom, your makeup.”

This only proceeded to cause Angel to sob and wail again, though in joyful, happy tears. He buried his face in Junior’s chest, clutching the boy. Thief, dumbstruck, approached, studying the young man like he were an alien object.

Junior regarded Thief with a respectful nod. “We shouldn’t stick around. They’ll be back.”

Thief’s voice fractured, but he smiled. Snow continued to fall.

“I missed you, son.”

Junior said nothing, though put an arm around Angel Dust, hugging him.

A dozen questions needed answering, but for now? He was back, he was alive.

[And Junior was coming home.](https://youtu.be/SnaECfZ4zrI)


	2. Revenants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thief and Angel welcome Junior back home.
> 
> An Overlord awakes from months of comatose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys and thank you for reading my works, it's nice to write something more focused around the holiday season.

**II**

To say the emotional reckoning of Junior’s “return” was overwhelming did it no justice. For Angel Dust, his adoptive boy breathing and, in the flesh, turned him into a sobbing, blubbering mess. His eyeliner streaked and his makeup ruined while his features periodically shifted from shivering cries to jubilant smiles. At some point betwixt all the literal happy cries, the three made it back to the car (which Junior briefly showed his appreciation for) and made it home.

As for Thief, the ride and return went by in a surreal blur. It was all so fast, to go from searching for something founded on a cryptic clue to. . . this. Part of him didn’t believe it, _couldn’t._ But every time Junior spoke and shifted in his seat, it was unmistakably Thief’s boy. If not a great margin older. Indeed, Junior was barely the protesting punk the two first discovered back in the _Extermination Zone,_ now _._ He was put together, grown into himself, broad-shouldered and calm. Didn’t lose his lust for black and leather, though, by god that was still there.

When they reached Thief and Angel’s home, Junior blinked when he stepped outside the _Boss,_ giving the structure a quick once over. “Not the Hotel, I see.”

“Lots of things changed, son,” said Thief, doing his best to keep calm as the word _son_ left his lips. This was, truly, something amazing. Though, despite that, Thief couldn’t help but remain on guard, if only a little. This was too good to be true, and they were in _Hell,_ so what was the deal? He did his best to push aside the thoughts, if only for now.

Outside on the front lawn, it didn’t feel so cold. The falling snow picked up, sure, but neither Thief nor Angel noticed.

Wiping his face and managing a _modicum_ of control, Angel sniffed, pulling out a few tissues from his inner coat and wiping his eyes. “Ahf, _sniff,_ fuckin’ hell, h-hah. Yeah. Heh, welcome home!”

It did everything in the spider’s power not to breakdown into happy cries again, but at this point, he was tapped. His eyes were sore, anyway. No more of that, he decided, this was an incredibly happy thing. Junior, in the meantime, held his headpiece at one side, looking the property over.

“It looks _terrible,”_ he said. “I like it.”

Thief managed another smile. “A hand me down from Charlie. It’s a fixer-upper, but we’ve been here for almost a year now.”

Junior tilted his head. “That long already,” he reflected. Indeed, long time since the events atop the Commission building and the Better Half.

A quiet moment followed his comment. Then: “Let’s get out of this goddamn cold!” said Thief.

They entered the home, holiday mirth overtaking the trio. Junior blinked as the ill-charactered house in Hell blasted him with surreal Christmas cheer. “. . .you two really got this place together, didn’t you?”

Thief shivered, taking off his overcoat. “It’s gonna’ be worse at the Hotel. You’ll see.”

Angel Dust beamed. “He will! Aw, m’little baby, s’gonna be perfect! Chuck’s got the Hotel lookin’ like a Christmas themed strip club! N’everyone’s lose their shit when dey see ya’ back!”

Junior did not protest. “Still all there, huh?”

His tone indicated something. Expectation, of sorts, but also a “knowing,” as if it didn’t surprise him at all.

“Still there,” added Thief. He then winked. “Crymini is too, you know.”

“Haha,’ Junior laughed. “I might be too old for _her_ now.”

Indeed. That was another thing eating at Thief’s mind. There was a lot to process, well beyond Junior being alive. Questions, so many. How was he here? How did he live? Why did he look older? What was he even _doing?_ He was ferociously armed, and given the sequence of death-accurate shots no doubt fired off from his weapons, he had learned to fight.

Junior could practically hear the questions. “I’m sure you wanna’ ask some things.”

“Baby!” Angel immediately cut in. “We’ze just happy you’re _here!_ Fuckin’ god, that’s all dat matters, okay? You’re safe and yer _home!”_

Angel hugged his adoptive son again then snapped his spare fingers. “Lemme get Nugsy!”

The spider rushed off, calling for the pig, giving the two a moment together. Thief looked his son over, his blood, crossing his arms. “. . .my boy.”

He embraced him. “Only my fucking son could come back from dying. I’m. . . weirdly proud of you, kid.”

Junior returned it, if brief. “We’ve got in common, old man.”

Thief broke the embrace but kept his hands on Junior’s shoulders. “I don’t know how you did it. But. . . Anthony’s right. It’s not important how. Just that you’re here. You’re here with us.”

Junior blinked. “. . .never took mom for an Anthony.”

“Hah. Never thought you’d call Angel _mom.”_

“Well, what else? Dad _two_?”

Thief nodded as his eye drifted down, glancing at the mean pair of Deagles the young man had holstered. And that helmet was alarmingly high-tech for Down Here.

“It’s okay,” Junior said, voice calm. “I don’t mind answering.”

He knew. He knew his father had so many things he wanted to ask, and _not_ just for curiosity’s sake. Thief, hearing this rubbed his chin, stepping back. It was good enough his boy was alive, matured, and clearly capable of fending for himself. Yet. . .

“Can I ask how?”

Junior smirked. “Now that one’s a little complicated. But, to put it one way, I was always pretty good at running.”

Thief soaked in the words. He meant how was Junior here, _alive._ Granted, he did see his soul taken to Heaven, or so he assumed. But based on that, he didn’t quite like Junior’s response.

“What does that _mean,_ son?”

Junior frowned, pondering. “I’m a guy that gave up heaven. What’s that tell you?”

The answer was strangely blunt, if not cryptic. After all this, Thief didn’t have the energy or patience for cryptic, but he could put stock in the answer. “Son.” he said in a cautioning, don’t-lie-to-your-dad sort of way.

“Sorry, dad,” Junior conceded. “I can’t tell you _how,_ exactly. My soul was saved, I guess? But the rest is. . .”

“Complicated,” Thief finished.

“And then some.”

Well. Good enough. Maybe he could get into it later, but for _now,_ his boy was back and as long as Junior was here, things would be all right.

“I was myself,” Junior continued, doing his best to explain. “As a soul, I guess. Then I wasn’t. There’s a space of time I don’t have memories of anything when I went ‘up.’ Then I was myself again, older. And in heaven.”

A notable trace of venom stuck in the word ‘heaven,’ Thief noticed, but he didn’t pursue. The answer, for now, was a tiny piece in a larger puzzle. Not much changed, then.

“Son. . .” Thief started, tone shifting. “What happened at the building. I’m sorry. We never. . . I can't find the words. . . we should've always protected you."

Junior stared. His expression didn’t change and he studied his father for a while. Thief couldn’t read it.

“ _He’s_ dead, I’m not,” Junior finally said. The shortness of it didn’t satisfy Thief, and anxiety blossomed in his heart. Did Junior blame them for his passing? Did he feel abandoned?

He couldn’t continue, as Angel came rushing back with one Fat Nuggets in arm, where the little oink squirmed in confused protest. Right on Angel’s spider-claws was Mynerva, a shotgun in hand as she sniffed out a newcomer.

“Lookit!” Angel beamed, bringing the pig to Junior. “S’Nugsy! He missed ya’!”

Junior chuckled at the demon pig which regarded him with curious intrigue. “What the hell, haven’t seen this little troublemaker in forever.”

“Sorry to cut in,” remarked Mynerva, the tall Hellhound padding over. “It’s in my contract to at least _attempt_ to do my job as security so. . . oh. Hellloooo. . .”

Said Hellhound gave Junior a good up and down, glancing at her weapon and throwing it behind her back. “You two didn’t tell me you were having company.”

Thief glanced at the “bodyguard” and clicked his tongue. Devil, what the hell was it with his boy and the caniform gals? Junior – finishing a quick pat on Nuggets’ head – shifted his gaze to her.

“They weren’t expecting it.”

“Put dat’ pea shooter away, pooch,” groused Angel. “Dis’ is my fuckin’ baby! That’s my boy, y’hear me?”

Mynerva very clearly did not, her ravenous eyes drinking in the older black-clad youth. “You know, I used to have a little biker number like that in my heyday.”

“Please stop getting horny for my son.” said Thief.

Mynerva stopped, sighed, then rolled her eyes. “You know for an ex-con and an ex-hooker, you two are a surprising buzzkill.” Her white tail swished in frustrated fashion, grumbling as she continued to eye the young man like meat-candy.

Junior did what he’d been doing for a while: absorb the information. His folks had someone running security? That was kinda’ good. In the meantime, he snuck a glance at her too, letting gaze wander over the Hellhound’s frame. “Biker, huh?”

“KNOCKITOFF!” yelled Angel like a protective spidermom, picking _right_ up at the "energy" between them. “Ain’t no fuckin’ happenin’ in dis goddamn house!”

Thief quirked a brown where Angel glanced at his husband. “Ya’ know what I mean.”

Thief did, and for a moment he was glad for this wellspring of humor. He forgot about all the dreadful memories, how Junior passed and the events leading to his “death.” Now, here, he and Angel had their boy back. Junior had changed, certainly. He had, somehow, made exodus of Heaven, and the consequences of that – if any – weren’t clear. But that was fine. As long as they had their boy, they could counter anything.

-*-

A pleased bewilderment fell over the house. That evening, Thief and Angel spent the rest of their time getting Junior acquainted with their home and got him a makeshift bed ready via living room couch. It wasn’t much, but then again, they weren’t expecting their son to be _alive._ Suppose it was appropriate the young man was in proximity to their little Christmas tree. Beyond that, however, was a dinner Thief prepared. A simple potato soup with heavy seasonings, good and hot for the colder season, food shared over the mirth of conversation. Whether intended or a subconscious effort, Angel kept the talk about he and his husband.

Small talk, mostly. Naturally, Angel avoided the post-Commission events and the grieving he and Thief did. He also stepped around (for now) the business with Valentino, mainly commenting on all the little stories the couple had collected in attempting to fix the house or just going out for an evening.

“We’re gonna’ stick with Chuck for th’ year-end business too,” Angel said after cleaning his bowl. “Ain’t a good time t’be out.”

Junior knew he meant the annual Extermination, and he couldn’t help himself. “Funny how it’s angels, you know?”

Thief noted the comment, though Angel shrugged. “Eh? S’been that way since I sucked m’first dick Down Here. Anyway, yer’ comin til’ it passes over.”

Junior didn’t protest. “Naturally.”

When dinner finished, Angel kisses his boy, hugged him, and prepared to settle in for sleep. “If wanna’ clean them rags, washer’s in the hall.”

Junior laughed. “Isn’t that _your_ job?”

“Hah! Bitch, I’m ya’ mamadaddy, but I ain’t yer maid. You got dem guns, so you'ze a big boy. You can clean yer clothes, honey.” Angel winked and offered a motherly (fatherly?) peck on Junior's cheek.

The boy chuckled while Angel and Thief went upstairs, leaving Junior to his affairs. _“AND NO FUCKIN’!”_

Thief smiled as they entered their room. “Harsh, baby. He’s not _grounded.”_

“I ain’t havin’ my bodyguard and my _boy_ BANG in th’same house!”

“Fair enough.”

Angel Dust sighed, stripping out of his clothes, pausing. “Fuck,” he said, quietly. “My boy. M’boy’s alive.”

The spider turned, pressed his body into Thief, and embraced him. “I can’t believe it.”

Thief returned the hug and studied the wall. Neither could he.

“It’s strange, though,” Thief intoned as Angel pushed back. “Can’t get my head around it.”

Angel shook his head. “Don’t start, alright? Don’t.”

“I’m glad he’s alive, Anthony. You know I am. But you have to admit it’s too good to be true.”

A frown. “Yeah? So fuckin’ what. I ain’t lettin’ anything happen t’him again. I fucked up and I lost him. I don’t care if fuckin’ Christ almighty is after his ass, they gonna’ gave to get through _me.”_

He broke the embrance, looking himself over in the mirror. “So you _do_ think he’s in trouble?” asked Thief.

“No,” grumbled Angel. “ _You_ do. Y’just want _me_ t’say it. I know you.”

Angel growled, pressing his hands on the stand, lowering his head. “Goddammit, Anon. Just let it be, alright? ‘Course the little shit’s probably in some heat. So what? What else is new?”

Thief sat at the bed’s edge, working with his prosthetic. “Maybe. I’d like to know what kind, at least. You can’t blame me for that, peppermint.”

The spider turned around. “All _you_ need t’concern y’self with is our family. It don’t matter what the details is.”

The shadow noted his husband’s obstinance, even denial. Perhaps he was right to a degree, as worrying about Junior – or a hypothetical problem – wasn’t going to change things. The only thing he _could_ control was protecting his kid. And, naturally, Angel wanted to enjoy the holidays, which was hard to do if you were doomcrafting about ominous existential threats.

“You’re not at least a little curious though?” Thief prodded, struggling to unwind the mechanisms on his prosthetic.

Silently, Angel strode over and with an expert series of motions eased the arm off, rotating the lock-nubs which held the prosthetic in place as it unlatched from his husband’s frame.

“He got older,” continued Thief. “And he’s _good_ with guns now?”

Angel set the arm to the side, kissing Thief on the forehead, in a “hush” kind of way.

“He’ll tell us when he’s ready, all right?”

Thief didn’t respond. Slowly, it dawned on them they were talking about their son like he was a teenager with growing pains. Better late than never, right?

“All right,” Thief conceded. “This’ll take some getting used to, is all. But I am happy he’s back. Our boy.”

The spider sniffed, wiping his eyes. “Our fuckin’ baby boy.”

“Angel, he’s almost as tall as us now.”

_“He’s still our baby.”_

They fell into the bed together, though sleep didn’t come easy. Not out of worry or concern, but a strange, joyful disbelief. How wonderfully surreal to have Junior around, in the flesh, speaking and moving about like nothing ever happened. It implied a lot too, about the nature of dying in Hell, or at least in the manner Junior did. It implied things weren’t quite so simple, that returning was possible, at least in some capacity. If Thief dwelled on it too long, he’d give himself a headache, because there was more to it. Whether Angel caught it or no, Thief absolutely felt the animosity towards heaven in Junior’s tone, whatever that implied. His cryptic “explanations” weren’t comforting, either.

He was running from heaven, he said. That didn’t bode well.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Thief reconciled to ask Charlie at the big holiday get together when time came. He didn’t want to spoil her end-of-year shindig but, if anyone could potentially provide answers here, it was her.

He closed his eyes, resting comfortably with his husband and the knowledge his son was alive.

-*-

He opened his eyes, and his body screamed in retaliation.

“Eaaasy now big guy, gotta’ get used to all that new skin, right?”

Lungs filled air, and it felt like breathing burning smoke.

_“Shut up.”_

Valentino was in no mood. Granted, he hadn’t been in a “mood” for what felt an eternity now. Months and months of rehabilitation, healing, implants, burning through his resources and wealth, all the while drowning in the mire of a humiliating setback. Not a loss, though, certainly not. He was a fucking Overlord, he was here for decades, having carved out a healthy helping of the City’s turf, allowing him privileges even the strongest sinner could scarcely dream of. But, it hardly altered the fact his “plan” had fallen apart along with his favorite studio. It resulted in a near-death state, his body literally turned to shreds, requiring top minds and technologies to keep his ravaged frame conscious. 

At once, he lurched up from the medical bed. He had moved to his suite a while back, to at least be in comfortable surroundings, and though for those months he was naught more than a corpse with life forced into its veins, he still had an entertainment empire to run. . . even if it was through blinks and pained breaths. Now, however, vigor and strength rushed back into his _mostly_ recovered body. By Lucifer it fucking _burned,_ and every step was a challenge, like walking upon fire. He hadn’t moved his own flesh in so long, and certainly not without the aid of a medical apparatus.

It just made him angrier.

“Where’s my fucking robe?” snarled Val, shambling over to his suite window, looking out across the City through its pink-tinted glass.

One Vox just laughed, watching his cohort struggle to just, well, _be._ “That old rag? I dunno, probably in the washer somewhere.”

Val leered at the screen-headed Overlord. “Save me your jokes you discount CRT! Get me my goddamn clothes!”

“It’s _nice_ to hear your voice again, Vally,” snorted Vox. “Without the help of an iron lung, I mean.”

Val wobbled, holding himself up. He coughed, wiping his mouth. The absence of a tooth was _quite_ noted. “Get. . . every man. . . I have available. . .”

Vox was at such an impasse. Watching Val hobble about was admittedly _quite_ amusing. The moth received a catastrophic smack on the ol’ ego. But, Val was still his friend (with benefits) and, if nothing else, one part to a powerful media kingdom. So, he waltzed over and assisted Val in standing. The moth growled, but didn’t resist.

“For what?”

“ _I’m getting that fucking spider back! Angel is mine!”_

A long sigh. Vox's eyes rolled. “Ohhh, Val, not _this_ again. We need to think about getting you back in the studio chair. Keeping our little playhouse in the black has been, uh, _hard,_ with your incapacitation and all.”

A bit of slimy drool trailed down Valentino's mouth. “You’re not listening.”

“Oh, unfortunately, _I am._ And you’re gonna have to face facts, it’s _not_ happening.”

At once, with a surge of alarming strength, Val turned on Vox and grabbed him by the neck, wringing the screen-headed Overlord and near lifting him off the ground. Near, because he wasn't quite strong enough, not yet.

_“As long as I’m ALIVE that spider belongs to ME!”_

But, in the same burst of strength weakness swiftly arrived, forcing him to topple over, releasing Vox, collapsing to the ground with a pained wheeze. Vox snarled, tempted to kick his associate in the dome, though observing his fairly pitiful body was enough.

“Watch the threads, Big Vee,” said Vox, dusting himself off. He glanced past the moth pimp, out to the snow-covered city, eyeing the absurd holiday lights visible here and there.

“Vally, let me be blunt here,” continued Vox. “Ya’ got real lucky. You caught Angel off guard the one time and I don’t think that’s happening again. And as much as a laughingstock Lucy’s little brat is, I can’t underestimate her anymore. _We_ can’t. She’ll know, others will know, and it’s months of paperwork and headaches and if we’re _really_ unlucky that fucking bug thing will come knocking around, because for some fucking reason she and it are associated. You forget about _that_?”

Val pushed himself up, grabbing at his chest. “I don’t care.”

Vox shrugged. “Too bad, babe! Cause it gets worse. _We don’t have the money for it._ Rebuilding the studio and keeping your ass alive _burned_ us. We ain’t got the resources to fund any of your escapades right now.”

Val grimaced. The idea that Angel Dust was out of his grasp was nothing short of infuriating. There _had_ to be a way!

“Fuck, Val, it’s the end of the year, take it _easy_ for a while, huh? We still got the Extermination coming up too, you know?”

Finally, Valentino stood, facing the window and placing his hand against it.

“Let them all I know I’m still alive,” he intoned. “ _This isn’t over.”_

Vox blinked. “Uh. . . who?”

“Everyone,” glared Val. “EVERYONE. The entire goddamn city!”

It wasn’t for the city to know. It was for _him. Angel._

He wanted that whore to know _he was still alive._

Vox shot him a look but shrugged. “Fine, fine. If it'll get you off this obsession. I’ll uh, also ring for an attire that doesn’t make you look like a hospice patient. Remember, we've got money to make back!”

The screen-head Overlord took one last concerned look at his cohort before leaving the suite. Well, at least the moth was finally moving, even if he was whining about old wounds. Val, however, did not forgive the event so easily. It was a humiliating spectacle and everyone with a phone saw it occur. He had to get Angel back, and make him pay. Make _everyone_ pay.

. . .but without the funds to facilitate such a thing, how? _How?_ He didn’t have the money to pay a militia, for instance, not a hitman, not a gang, not even a platoon of hobos. He couldn’t pull off a sting as he did before. The Magne girl would be _especially_ wary of him now.

Hmf. That was fine. He wasn’t a coward. He’d let them all understand, clear and true, that he was fucking _Valentino_ , and burning down his studio couldn’t even kill him.

“Gurgh. . .”

He hacked and fell to his knee, a fresh wave of weakness overtaking him. It pained him to admit, but alive as he was, the rest of him wasn’t ready. His vision blurred and his head swam with a dizzy, foggy pain.

His suite was empty, cold even. The usual buzz of calls, deals, and studio affairs no longer surrounded him like usual. No snarky musings from his favorite property, Angel. Instead, there existed the distant rumble of Pentagram City amidst a chilly drizzle of snow fall. A bizarre sense of isolation consumed him. He had never been. . . alone before.

He coughed again. “. . . _I’ll do it myself_. . .” he wheezed, to no one.

So fucking hard to find good help these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god THIS ASSHOLE again


	3. Heaven Within Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel, Thief, and Junior return to the Hotel for a night of celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter but filled with uh, "goodies."

**III**

“Holy shit, what did she _do?”_

Thief squinted through the frost encrusted car window, spotting the flashy silhouette of a discombobulated but _very_ familiar building in the distance. Angel Dust, spying the same thing, snorted with laughs as he shifted gears and slowed the _Boss_ as the black vehicle made its steady approach.

“Bitch wudn’t playin’ around, damn!” remarked the spider, flicking a switch to hasten the car’s wipers.

Indeed, the Hazbin (Happy) Hotel never looked homier. But also, alien. Even from here, the pair could see the structure was _drenched_ in holiday fixings. Flickering Christmas lights and wreathes and demonic cherubs adorned the structure’s exterior, glittering tinsel adding a nauseating level of cheery welcome. Snow blanketed the front and nestled atop the Hotel’s signs, all while hastily thrown together “snow men” waved at nonexistent visitors and passerbys. Save for the little family on the way, of course.

“I’m afraid to see what she did to the inside,” intoned Thief, scratching his chin. “Hox said it was uh, a nightmare.”

“Oh yeh?” grinned Angel. “What, ya’ gonna’ tell blondie to tone it down? G’luck with dat.”

As the couple chattered, a different passenger looked at the building, studying it. To Junior, it felt like the last time he even _saw_ the Hotel was a lifetime ago. Technically. . . that was right. Dying really did a number on one’s sense of time, as it turned out.

“You look nervous.”

Junior didn’t move. “I’m not.”

Mynerva chuckled. “I’ve seen a lot of poker faces in my time, and you don’t pull it off as well as you think.”

Naturally, Thief and Angel weren’t on their way to Charlie’s pre-Helliday-but-also-Holliday celebration as a couple. Angel was _dying_ to bring Junior along and Mynerva was _oddly_ insistent she tag along too. So, the Hellhound and adoptive son were jammed in the backrow while Angel navigated through the snowy streets of Pentagram City.

“What makes you think I’m trying to pull anything off?” Junior said, voice calm and pleasant. Obviously, he couldn’t tote around his brutish headdress for an outing like _this,_ so it meant relying on his demeanor.

“The black leather and biker fetish deal you were walking around with, for one,” chided Mynerva. “I bet you’ve got a layer of Kevlar under there, too!”

Junior wasn’t in his original getup, not the tactical jacket mixed with heavy combat boots and black leather – the kind of thing you wore when you _always_ expected a fight. His mamadad spider cloaked the boy in a hastily bought holiday sweater. Mynerva was in one too, though she had a black form fitting one with stitching of bones and other dog related imagery woven about it.

“It pays to be prepared,” Junior said coolly.

Mynerva smirked. “For a Christmas party? Yeah, I’m sure there’s fruitcake worth dumping a few rounds in.”

Junior shot her a look but again, said nothing. Mynerva shook her head, raising her hands. “Fine, fine, I get it. Keep roleplaying the mysterious stranger thing. It’s kinda hot.”

At _that_ Junior thought to say something, but was cut off by an excited yelp.

“Made it!” chirped Angel, wearing a gleeful expression while he parked the car in front of the Hotel.

The quartet exited the vehicle as the strange cold swept over them, a blister of snowfall creating long white blankets as far as the eye could see. An alien thing to see in the depths of Hell. Oh sure, Lucifer had concocted such a domain that snow _was_ possible, and even parts of Hell contained such biomes that were not too dissimilar from arctic areas. But, that didn’t mean the year’s end guaranteed snowfall, if at all. Then again, it _was_ the first year Charlie was celebrating the Hellidays with her pet project. Perhaps he saw fit to “gift” it to his daughter, the result quite beautiful indeed.

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!” Angel continued, waving his arms. “Getogether! Picture! Wanna’ get a picture!”

Briefly, Junior hesitated. “Oh, we don’t have to do th-.”

 _“We’re taking a picture together,”_ cut in Thief. He got close to Junior, leaning close. “It makes Anthony very happy. Understand?”

Junior blinked but conceded. It took him a moment to absorb that. When he glanced back to his adoptive parent, yes, the spider’s face pulled with a bright expression. Everything from his tone to his movements was light, spritely, and joyful. And why? Because Junior was back, alive? The feeling was unusual, only because he’d forgotten how much he could mean to someone.

The four crowded together (even Mynerva), gave their smiles, to which the spider ferociously thumbed his commentary on before uploading it to social media. Satisfied, Thief came to his side, graciously took his arm, and gestured to the Hellhound and son.

“Alright. . . this’ll be. . . something.”

Junior noted the hesitation. “You told them what happened, right?”

Angel stowed the Hellphone away and shrugged. “’Bout my little baby comin’ back t’me? Yeah, bet she’d b’lieve dat one over a call.”

Junior frowned. “Hmm.”

“Oh relax,” nudged Mynerva, coming to his side and getting close. “Part of my job is bodyguarding, so, bodyguard I will.”

Angel saw the proximity, narrowing his eyes, looking at Thief with a concerned expression. Thief said nothing, hiding a smile.

“You’ll survive, hon,” Angel said. “Les’go, m’freezin m’tits off out here!”

-*-

They weren’t prepared.

Angel recalled his first time stepping through the Hotel’s doors, strolling through its scarlet interior, surrounded by its disheveled state and barren rooms. Now?

A blitz of holiday decorum infested every visible aspect of the foyer and beyond. A dazzling barraging of hung lights glittered like multicolored stars, married to ropes of yet more tinsel. Beyond, in the wide living quarters, an enormous tree stood defiant, near touching the ceiling and bathed in sparkling ornaments. Crimsons and golds and greens shimmered as brilliant treasures while its invited piney aroma suffocated the Hotel, the echoing buzz of Holiday themed music audible. And there, in a garish display of nauseating cheer and happiness was a neon sign lined against the molding, a flashing sign which read: HAPPY HELLIDAYS!

“Holy fuck,” Thief said, rubbing his head.

It was nice to see the old place again. Last visit, it wasn’t on the happiest of terms, more to support Angel than anything. But now? Ah, not Thief nor Angel could shake its welcoming embrace. More so now that their son was with them.

“OHMYGOSHYOU’REHERE!”

At once, the flittering, buzzing silhouette of Niffty scrambled into view, her outfit a green dress with matching elf hat.

“Hey Nif,” greeted Thief.

“Sup, spaz!” snorted Angel. “How ya’ been, ya’ little gnat!?”

Despite the words, Angel Dust was genuinely happy to see her. Niffty didn’t stick around though, flying off. “IGOTTAGETTHEMIIIIIIIS!”

Angel looked back to his son. “Damn. Didn’t even see ya’.”

Junior watched the mono-eyed maid fly away. “She’ll get it eventually.”

The collision course with Charlie was inevitable. In the meantime, they waded into the large interior room, one retrofitted with a stage, tables, and chairs. This was the same one when Charlie officially opened the Hotel (or “re-opened”) and celebrated. Thief only recalled it because he did body shots off his then-boyfriend.

But like last time, it was filled with the Hotel guests. From Husk to Hox, they were all there, garnished in something Christmas-y. When the quartet made their appearance, Vaggie saw them first. The others were chatting amongst themselves, some sipping on eggnog. Some meaning Husk.

“Oh! You made it!” Vaggie beamed as she approached them. She was in a themed dress, cut low with what appeared to be a faux mistletoe choker.

“Ey, Vags!” greeted Angel, yanking her into a hug. It caught even her off guard. “How’s my favorite screechin’ banshee, eh? Ya’ still a fuckin’ nut buster, ehehehe!”

Vaggie was muffled by Angel’s pronounced bust, pushing through his holiday outfit. She pushed away, grunting and swearing.

“Agh, dammit Angel! Don’t mess up my hair!”

She stared him up and down, growling. Then. . . she smiled. “Good to see you too.”

Vaggie turned her attention to Thief. “Hey Anon! Nice suit.”

Thief and Vag exchanged hugs. “Nice _dress._ The Miss appreciates it, right?”

The demonette rolled a playful eye. In the same motion, she tapped her eyepatch. “I like what you did with yours. Gotten used to it?”

A nod. “Yeah. Never thought I would, but it’s not so bad after a while.”

Then. . . Vaggie noticed the other pair. “Oh. Who’s this?”

Hesitation. Thief and Angel exchanged looks again, while the shadow cleared his throat. “Well. Ahm. Vaggie. You remember our bodyguard, right? Mynerva?”

The tall Hellhound cut in. “CEO, CIO, and founder of HOWL, thank you.”

Vaggie dawned a curious expression, pushing her hands to hips. “Ah, I. . . think. Well. Nice to see you again? Any friend of these two is a friend of ours.”

And now her eye drifted to Junior, who remained quiet. Not apprehensive or nervous, merely tempered, controlled. “Um. Hello! And this is. . .?”

Angel took a breath, stepping to the side so Junior was more in view. Vaggie squinted, studying the broad-shouldered young man. “Huh. Kinda’ familiar.”

“We didn’t talk much before,” Jack said. “But hey again, Vags.”

“Um,” added Angel. “Dis’ is him, Vaggie. Dis’ is Junior, ‘member? Our boy. Heh.”

Vaggie blinked. Her expression didn’t change, the information processing and weaving itself through her thoughts, realization building. “Huh. But. . . wait. Wait, huh? But. Wait. But he. . .”

In a moment of pride, Junior boasted. “Hey, I’m my father’s son. We don’t die easy.”

Angel near cracked, wanting to both laugh and cry. Instead, he pecked his son on the cheek. “Dat’s fucking RIGHT! Dat’s m’baby! Tough fucker! Can’t kill dis’ little shit!”

Vaggie’s eye went saucer wide and she rubbed her head. “Oh. Ohhhh. . . oh my god. I. . . whoa. . .”

She looked at him. “It. . . really is you?”

“If Angel didn’t give me this sweater, I’d be wearing black,” he said with chuckle.

“ _Ohmygodit’syou.”_

-*-

The proceeding realization hit the rest of the Hotel denizens much the same way. There was the first wave of shock. Though, not _everyone_ was in total disbelief. Alastor kept a very _knowing_ look about him, though even he was surprised. Husk wondered if he was too scuzzed for the night. Baxter, making a rare appearance, adjusted his glasses and dared to potentially ‘examine’ Junior for “angelic holy residue,” as he put it. Cyrmini and Junior gave each other a knowing stare, and a clear desire to speak later hung between them, though not yet. Razzle and Dazzle bleated, munching on Christmas sweets as they whispered to the other, while Hox shook his head, bewildered but, given his history with Thief, wasn’t as flummoxed. Frankly, since the Doberman demon had come back from a state of death himself, seeing the boy return to life wasn’t so surprising.

And then Charlie arrived, strolling down the Hotel staircase like a royal melody, her frame adorned in a festive dress.

When she saw Junior, she experienced the same rollercoaster of emotions. Surprise, happiness, a joy that Thief and Angel had their boy back. She embraced him as she did with all the people she cared about, exclaiming that this truly made her first genuine attempt at the Hellidays a good one.

But there was something else. Something deep, unspoken, but known only between her and the young man. Junior regarded her with appreciation, but behind his eyes lurked something else. Because for him to be he _here,_ it would mean that he had gone to “heaven.” He did so as a pure spirit, so why this then? Charlie did not show it, not reveal it through her smiles and jubilant demeanor, but it lingered within the recesses of her thoughts, a question burning in the catacombs of her Luciferean soul. Why did he come back?

_Why did he reject heaven?_

-*-

“Alright kiddo, time to knuckle the fuck up.”

Proceeding the quartets arrival, the festivities kicked in. Charlie had done her homework about Christmas, or rather, watched hours of schmaltzy black-and-white movies depicting how it was supposed to go. This resulted in lots of eggnog. . . most of which was spiked. And, nothing said a good celebration like knocking a few back with the boys.

In this case, Junior had a rite to perform.

After permission from his husband, Thief pulled Junior aside to gather with the fellas. Thief, Hox, Alastor, Husk, and even Baxter joined together at a table with a row of shot glasses, primarily for two reasons: to celebrate Charlie’s bash, and to toast to Junior’s return.

“I don’t really drink,” Junior commented while his father seated him at a round table.

“Hah!” Husk chortled, sneering. “Too bad princess. You gotta’ hold your grog. You fuckin’ came back to life, that’s something to drink to!”

“The barfly makes a good buzz!” added Alastor, dawning a strangely positive tone, static voice filing the air. “One doesn’t just abandon eternal paradise for nothing!”

Hox pat the table. “C’mon kid! Demon seed of Anon, told death to fuck _right_ off. We got that in common now too, you see? Drink! You’re one of us!”

Thief squeezed his son’s shoulder. “That’s right, son. You’re with family now.”

Husk made a face. “Ugh, fuck off, don’t start gettin’ all sappy.”

“Hell yeah,” Hox egged on. “You’ve got three uncles, eh?”

“Excuse me?” Baxter finally chimed in. “And what am I?”

Silence. Baxter rolled his eyes, huffing. “Fine. This is why I don’t leave the lab!”

“Alright, _alright,”_ Junior conceded. “Good points. Guess I just never took chuckles over there for a drinker.”

Alastor tilted his head, grin widening. “My dear boy, get in a row with me and I’ll drink you under the Louisiana moon!”

“Enough yappin,” Husk said, flapping his wings and adjusting his Santa hat. “Settin’ em up.”

At once, he set aside several shot glasses placed in front of each, filling them with a nice, smooth brown whiskey. The group took their glasses, where Thief raised his in toast. “Been a while since I slugged em’ back with you guys.”

“Less gab, more drink!” Husk chortled, raising his class too. They all did, save for Junior. He studied his drink. It, like the ‘friends’ here was a strange, unfamiliar concept. Hell, last time he was around the Hotel guests, he insulted them. But here they were, welcoming him as one of their own

The contrast was palpable.

Each member knocked their respective glasses back. Junior made a face, coughed briefly, wincing. There was a burn, overwhelmingly so, and he wagered he might spit the liquid back up. But he got it down as the rest of his company stared him down, waiting, _judging._ Didn’t matter if you could spin a gun or two in company like this, your merits took a blow if you didn’t manage your sauce.

“There he is!” chimed Hox. “Not bad.”

Junior glanced to his father, who gave him an approving nod. “Atta’ boy.”

It went that way for a good while. Each member of the Hotel got tipsy, or respectively, smashed. Junior drank mainly for politeness sake, and, though he dared not admit it, he did want to make his father proud, even if he didn’t say it. Everyone else though got rosey and red cheeked, even _Alastor,_ until conversations slurred to cheery back and forths. When Junior looked over to where his mother was, same story: Angel Dust swung his arms around the girls and got scuzzed on wine.

In that torrent of drink and laughter, he also saw Mynerva, who gave him a smirk. Junior cleared his throat, looked away, and felt. . . uh, hot.

“To anotherr yeersh of failfursh!” toasted Alastor, raising a glass. “Soonsh the angel’s of death wiiiiiilll be upon ush, hahahohoho!”

Laughter. Suppose the annual Extermination event didn’t bother them.

-*-

“Bois. . .”

Celebrations, evening, and alcohol all whipped up one hell of a concoction. Peeling back reservations and opening the floodgates to desire, each member of the Hotel lost themselves in a spell of stupor. Junior was back, the mood was high, and Charlie was overjoyed. Tonight, getting sloppy was on the docket, among things.

Hox wobbled into his quarters. Raz and Daz, the Goat Bois that had been his main squeeze for the last. . shit, year? They were waiting. Whether Hox could make a serious relationship out of his back-and-forth with them, he wasn’t sure. What he _was_ sure of, though, was they were a good lay. Twins, after all. So, the Doberman demon found himself in bed, staring at the ceiling, the room swimming. The Bois, shorttacks they were, had gotten a little drunk too, and they wore a duet of sneers. They stripped, hopping upon the bed and crawling towards the hound, rears wobbling with their motions.

“Baaaaa~” they bleated in unison.

Hox mouthed something he didn’t understand. The Bois in the meantime unfastened his pants, yanked him out of briefs, and proceeded to pull out Hox’s mast, the throbbing cock flailing from its threshold as it smacked Raz on the cheek. Said Raz cooed in approval.

In moments, their soft lips were on the red inches, tongues slurping and roaming across the hungry monolith as they massaged Hox’s testes and chuckled while they tag teamed him.

Didn’t take long before Hox was burying his bone in them.

-*-

In another room, in quarters familiar, Angel’s frame was hot from liquor and hotter from want. Elation and bliss took hold of his frame, and christ among the dead it made him randy. Something about wanting to share that experience with his Anon amplified all this, and given their bound soul, it was a feedback loop of good feelings.

He didn’t remember much, save pushing himself against the edge of his bed, exposing himself to Anon while his shadow approached and caressed his back, hips, and rump, removing panties before filling him with hot, wet familiarity.

-*-

"Heh, lightweight.”

Junior was seated by himself downstairs, whereas most of the Hotel had retired or moved. Charlie had bigger holiday plans, but tonight was a get together, a welcoming of friends. But for Junior, he preferred his own company, and had no intention of getting off-his-ass wasted. Mynerva noticed.

Junior glanced to see the tall Hellhound approach. Her fur was pale as white death, an interesting contrast to her black sweater. Shimmering gold teeth peered out from a grinning muzzle while her eyes were like dark pitch, focused on Junior.

He said nothing.

“For a guy that takes himself so seriously, you don’t drink much.”

He shrugged. “Fucks with the aim.”

“Orrrr you’re just inexperienced,” she said, waltzing over. “Don’t sweat it, I won’t tell. That’s client privilege, after all.”

Junior chuckled. “Client?”

“Welll I work for your folks, so, yeah, why not, honorary client.”

Junior didn’t budge, leaning back in his seat. “Thanks. No need though. I take care of myself.”

The Hellhound snickered. “Heard it before. But any pup that can’t even hold their liquor? Exactly how do you plan to pull off your big scheme with such _rancid_ charisma?”

Junior stared her down now. “What makes you think I'm scheming _anything?”_

“The attitude, the cock compensator double Deagle setup, the fact that you apparently fucked off from paradise. I’ve been around, _Junior,_ I know what’s what.”

“Jack.”

Mynerva blinked. “Huh?”

“My name is Jack. Or, it’s a name I picked for myself.”

The Hellhound swiped a bang of white hair back, purring in doggish approval. “Hmm. _Jack._ Well, point stands. If you’re anything like your pap, the one with the plans, I don’t figure you’re just here for a hello.”

“How perceptive.”

A snort. “Oh, lighten up _Jack._ You’re so _tense._ What, afraid I might bite?”

He looked her over. “Cut me some slack. Coming back from heaven takes it out of a guy.”

“Must have been a real shitshow to reject ‘paradise.’”

Junior cleared his throat, looking away. “Well. Yeah. Not. . . great. And it didn’t have my family. Or Hellhounds.”

Mynerva’s ears perked and she stared the young man down. “Bless your goddamn heart, you tried huh? Hah. You don’t talk with girls, much do you?”

“ _Dying_ will do that to a guy.”

Another sneer. “You’ve got a lot to catch up on then, huh?”

Jack didn’t answer at once. The same strange hotness took ahold of his chest, filling his veins. It was different. New. Kind of. . . exciting. Not the excitement of a perfect tactical reload or loading a mag of custom hollow points. It was visceral and real. . .

His loins felt tight.

Mynerva could practically smell it. “It’s been reaaaaal boring. I haven’t had much to do since I took up this gig, but something about _you. . .”_

She proceeded to hop on Junior’s waist, and here, it was _readily_ apparently how much her size difference added. She was as tall as Angel Dust at least and it meant Jack was at the “mercy” of her, uh, wolfness.

“Um.”

At once, Mynerva tugged at her sweater and yanked it off. Her fat, wobbly bosom spilled out, and in true demonic fashion, there was no bra to speak of. Black nips tinted her healthy tits to provide an alluring contrast and – once the sweater was gone – her spiked choker was visible. Jack stared.

His head went dizzy a moment. “Huh. Double. . . deagles.”

Mynerva snickered. “First time, is it?”

“Not a lot of opportunities in Heaven, as it turns out,” he said, voice hoarse. The rest of him felt like his soul was tossed in a blaze.

Mynerva purred again and wiggled her hips. “Mmm, keep that mag in now, don’t want a misfire. . .”

Jack attempted a thought, but all that came through was instinct. Off went Mynerva’s pants, her panties, and so did his own. He wondered, briefly, if this was set up. . . but based on the Hellhound’s motions, were want was clear. Why? Okay, didn’t really fucking matter.

Glancing down, he saw his root slip into her hot, wet folds, the ebon cleft embracing his malehood. He tensed, he groaned and as he quickly discovered _heaven was found in the heart of hell._ Or, at least, balls deep in Hellhound pussy.

You could be forgiven to forget about the nearing Extermination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> horndog


	4. Legionnaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Cleansing nears, Angel wants to talk with Jack.

**IV**

Quiet.

Quiet, if only for now.

Quiet, deafening, quiet.

Charlie Magne wished it could stay this way forever, that the cheer and joy filling her Hotel with all the people she loved and care for was an endless constant. That she could funnel this love into her people out into Hell, and realize her dreams of redemption and peace. Because doing so would stop what was coming. Doing so would, perhaps, end the _Exterminations._

If only.

A few hours remained before the clock would strike to its graveyard hand. A few hours before the Angels Above tore open the sky and sang their hymns of evisceration, before their wailing spears and swords cut down sinners in a glittering spectacle of holy horror. All of Hell knew their arrival was close, and all of Hell scattered to find safe haven. Panic set in for the numerous unfortunate sinners who could find no haven, while Overlords and gangs and bosses and the affluent walled themselves off. For some, the Extermination was nothing but a formality. Provided you stayed out of sight, hunkered down in the right spot, and let the chattel find their way to slaughter, all was well. The rest?

Let there be no mercy, alas, the purge.

Charlie wandered to her office, lighting the way with a candle. She was prepared for this circumstance. The Hotel was a shoddy thing, yes, but she’d instilled it with her own dread might, the resounding strength of her lineage: a shield. In fact, this very barrier protected her home when the ancient Goetia, Abaddon, made an unwanted appearance and set his hordes upon the city. The only thing that managed to scrape his way through the arcane wall was that Nephilim, Sarakk and that was a very _unique_ circumstance. Besides, were any of those “Angels” to somehow penetrate her defenses, she’d show them what for!

Though, it was a morose feeling. When she reached her desk, she pulled a lever which revealed a hidden control panel in her wall, the mechanism by which she’d activate the barrier. Once on, however, the City and rest of Hell was effectively cut off for the remainder of the purge. She. . . couldn’t help anyone. For the safety of everyone here, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Niffty, Anon, even _Alastor –_ it would stay up. There was a bitter joy to it. She could save her friends and her girl, but not her people. She succeeded, but she failed too.

And like every time she readied herself for the purge, she whispered aloud.

_“This year, I **will** change things.”_

Charlie looked around her office, reflecting on the year previous. So much happened, and so much was _still_ happening. In a way, it felt like nothing got better, no progress made, no hurdles overcome. Dad still looked at her project like a passing fancy, a _phase,_ and mom was, well, _mom._ Were they right?

And then she remembered everyone. How they all grew and changed in their own way. Husk drank a bit less. Alastor was, at some points, strangely friendly. Crymini opened up a little more. Angel Dust, well, by god! Married! All of them were a little brighter.

So, she hummed to herself a little something as she set the candle down, flicking on the apparatus and preparing to activate the Hotel’s shield.

She still had a dream, a dream she wished to tell.

-*-

“Mhmhm, baby boy, you can get it, huh?”

A wisp of smoke escaped Mynerva’s muzzle as she took another puff of her cig, nestling back into the pillow. Her counterpart, “Jack,” made a face, folding his arms on his chest.

“Please, no.”

She chuckled, her rows of gold teeth glinting in the room light. Charlie was generous enough to lend one for the stay, and she fully intended to make use of its _accessories. “_ You object to my terminology?”

“Mom calls me that. So. Yeah.”

Mynerva snubbed the cig on a glass ashtray, snickering. “He’d probably find it _funny.”_

Jack said nothing. He was in a strange place, literally and not. Back at the Hotel, if only briefly. In a bed with. . . a Hellhound. One that bedded _him,_ on the eve of the annual Extermination. Now, where he came from, they didn’t even bother with angels. In the Zones, the Enforcers rounded you up if they could and did a little “holiday cleaning.” A cycle, destructive and genocidal in nature, part of the digestive system of a horrid beast that was Heaven.

Myneva noted the silence. “You’re pretty pouty for a guy that just got his nuts rocked.”

Junior glanced at the ceiling. “Don’t have any sweet nothings or clever quips, sorry.”

Myernva turned over, pale white fur caught in the light, matching hair falling over her shoulders and perky tits. “Just moans then?”

Again, he remained quiet.

“Gah, what is your deal, kiddo? Really. You’re playing it all nice for your folks, but an ex-street bitch like me knows the broody asshole when she sees one. Custom rounds, fancy tech, weapons you don’t just _have._ What are you up to, Jack?”

Jack gave her a look. “I don’t fuck and tell.”

Mynerva snorted. “Oh, was that a fuck? Coulda’ fooled me.”

He smirked. “Dunno’ what you want me to say. What I’m doing here. . . it doesn’t involve any of you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Vigilantes are overrated and for nerds.”

Jack shook his head. “Guess again.”

“How about tell me and I’ll throat your dick.”

Jack didn’t reply. Instead, he pushed himself up, sitting up in bed, noting the time. Not long until the purging would start.

“Let me show you something,” he said. He extended his left hand, turning it over. On his wrist was a symbol, burned into his flesh to appear as a scar. The shape was crude and looked to be the symbol of an inverted sword save it did not terminate into a compete shape.

Myernva sniffed at it then made a face. “That’s why you tip your inkers.”

“From the _Legion of Michael,”_ he continued, ignoring her comment. “I was supposed to be one of them.”

Mynerva blinked. “Sorry?”

He chuckled. “It’s death worship,” he said, adopting a morose tone. “Can you imagine that? Paradise is a cult of death.”

The Hellhound sighed. “Oh don’t get all Poe on me, sad dick gets limp quick and it make boys less interesting.”

“I’m trying to answer your question,” he said.

“Then stop circling the wagon, _Jack.”_

He looked at her. “I want to change things. Or, die trying. Simple as that.”

“Eh?”

Jack shook his head. “Hey, you asked.”

She snorted. “I was hoping for something a little more _interesting.”_

 _“_ You fucked a guy that was supposed to be an Exterminator and you don't think that’s interesting enough?”

Myernva stared, ears flagging as her position shifted. “. . .you could’ve said that sooner.”

“That one tends to end conversations.”

Mynerva huffed, her tail thumping the bed. She lied back now, looking at the window, the horizon of the city blurred behind drawn curtains. “Huh. Hmm. Well. I can scratch that off a list of cool shit I never thought I’d get to do.”

“. . .a lot of your goals seems to involve fucking.”

She waved a hand. “Pshaw, I’m a security consultant, that’s all. But it gets old, so, you know. You.”

Another long pause. Then.

“. . .sooo. . . Legion of Michael, you said? So um, what then kid, you’re gonna’ try some revolution bullshit? You gotta’ know how that sounds.”

“I don't talk about it.”

She raised a hand. “Hey now, don’t get like that. It’s just _lofty.”_

“So is trying to redeem sinners,” Jack commented. “But I’m not worried about the time, or resources, or what I _have_ to do Just that it needs doing.”

He tapped his fingers, contemplating his ambition, especially in regards to his surrogate family. “I’m worried about them, all of them. I watched mom and dad last night, and I never really caught how much they care about each other. Or, how everyone does for everyone else, honestly.”

Mynerva nodded. “Your parents are a bad romance novel, all right.”

“Well. They’d kill for each other. And they’ve killed for me. And I’ll kill for this Hotel. But that’s not good enough, understand? I can’t save them if I don’t do something. . . bigger.”

Mynerva reached over and grabbed a flask, opening it and taking a quick swig. She gasped when she finished, wiggling it at Jack. He hesitated, but then took it, taking a sip. Rancid, burning flavorless liquid, but he managed.

“That sounds really boring and exhausting. And I _know_ boring, given that I’m CEO of HOWL.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“Point stands.”

Jack took a deep breath. “Can’t stop crime. But you can control it. Same principle.”

The Hellhound took her drink back and stared at the flask, eyeing her warped reflection in the brushed steel. “Pftahah. Listen to you. Hell of a racket you’re trying to set up.”

“We’re already in one.”

She set aside the flask. “How dramatic. And you think you’re getting all this done alone? Exterminator or no, you should know how shit that’d go for you.”

Jack glanced at her and gave her a knowing look. Ah. She knew it. Kid wasn’t showing his full hand – smarter than he looked!

“You just sound like you want to help,” Jack accused.

Mynerva leaned back in her pillow. “Security consultations, remember?”

Before Jack could respond, a hard knock came, and then a voice.

_“Hey, Mynerva?”_

It was Vaggie.

The Hellhound sneered and called over it an almost sing-song tone. “Yeeees?”

_“We’re getting everyone together downstairs for safety. I know it’s late but It's also, you know. Almost time.”_

By that, she meant the annual purge. Jack clenched his teeth though said nothing. Nobody really knew he was _in_ here, but, guess that’d be out of the bag too.

“Oh, right!” Mynerva called. “Tell my employers I’ll grab their kid for em’ too.”

_“Will you? Thanks. Saves me a trip. See you downstairs.”_

The padding of steps faltered as Vaggie left while Mynerva shot the young man a grin. “You’re _welcome_.”

She sighed, stretched out of bed, her hips swinging in perhaps exaggerated display as the Hellhound clothed herself. Junior sort of watched, though the distraction of what was coming took most of his attention. If this was different, he’d be _part_ of this purge.

-*-

Charlie rounded up the entirety of the Hotel in the main living hall, which still carried the various holiday ornamentations of the season. Despite what was coming, she did everything she could to maintain a cheery, positive demeanor, and knowing her guests and friends were safe put her _somewhat_ at ease. The mood was mutual, too. No one was keen on acknowledging the outside or what was going to happen. Even veterans like Husk, Alastor, and Angel – who witnessed Exterminations time and time again – left it to the curb. No matter your station, a sinner nor demon could never truly ignore the reality of the purges.

The only medicine was drink and chatter.

Jack emerged with Mynerva a while after Vaggie collected them, arriving well after the rest of the Hotel had gathered in the center room. At once, Thief and Angel saw their boy and waved him over. Angel glanced between the Hellhound and Jack briefly, squinting, though made no indication that he “knew” something. Didn’t stop from Jack making a break from the Hellhound who gave him a little nudge before he rejoined his parents.

“There he is,” said Thief, in holiday attire. He’d been nursing a glass of scotch. “Sleep well?”

Jack had foregone his sweater, and this time, kept the jacket. Call it a habit regarding the events of tonight.

Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yeah. Could say that.”

Thief studied his boy, and though he didn’t show it, there was a smile in his voice. “Uh _huh.”_

At this, Angel nudged his husband and leaned over. “Hey. Mind if I. . . do th’thing now?”

Thief shook his head. “Take him. He’ll appreciate it.”

At this, Angel smiled and gave his son a look before parting from the crowd, wandering to the window where he stood, waiting. Thief, in the meantime, looked his boy square and the eye.

“Go talk to your mother.”

Now, Jack didn’t scare at all, considering what he’d confronted, done, and survived. Yet a spring of panic did form in his chest, in that did-I-do-something-wrong-sort-of-way.

“Uh. . . everything okay?”

A nod. “Ignoring the cleanse outside? Peachy. But, son, really, go talk with Anthony. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just for _him_. He hasn’t had time with a little one on one, you know?”

Jack understood, and that was fair. He liked the idea, too, at least. He didn’t know a whole lot about his “family,” really, and it was a strange thing. He was a bit tired of being a “strange thing,” then, so, followed suit and went to Angel Dust at the window side. Curtains were drawn and the Hotel – so he’d been informed – was shielded from the outside events, though his frame tensed in proximity to it.

Angel beamed with a little hand wave.

“Hey, mom,” started Jack. “Uhh. . . you look good.”

Angel looked down at his ensemble. “Mm? Oh ya’think? Had to toss dis’ shit on, I didn’t have m’usual stuff lyin’ around. Bugh, m’wearin’ rags.”

“Could be worse,” offered Jack, attempting humor. “Could’ve picked leather.”

Angel shook his head. “Aww, Junior, ya’ always loved yer edgy shit, eh?”

Junior? Right. He hadn’t told him his elected name. He’d have to later on.

“If it works.”

A pause formed between them. Jack said nothing, though he didn’t really know _what_ to say. His mind was so busy, distracted by the approaching outside onslaught and the nature of this vicious cycle. Hell, he was barely used to sharing the same breathing space as his adoptive father-mother. Fortunately for them both, Angel Dust broke the silence first.

“God, look atcha’. When I had ya’' around last, you was just. . . small.”

Angel offered a weak, but endearing, smile, putting his hands on Jack’s shoulders, squeezing them. “Built like a linebacker, ahaha! Dat’s my boy!”

Jack smiled. “I wasn’t _that_ small.”

Angel made a shape with his digits, indicating ‘tiny.’ “You was an itty bitty punk. My itsy-bitsy little rat kid, ehehe.”

The spider frowned. “I guess. . . I can’t really calls ya’ ‘my kid,’ I mean. Ya’ know. I mean ya’ dad is yer dad and I’m. . . well I wanna’ be. . .”

He exhaled. “Ugh, ahaha, dis ain’t s’posed to be hard.”

“You’re my mother,” Jack said, defiant and resolute. “Or, father. Whichever.”

Angel blinked and stared at his adoptive for a long while. “Ya ain’t gotta just say that. You’ze my baby, okay? M’always gonna’ look atcha that way. But. . .”

His eyes wandered over to the congregation, where he spied his Anon chatting to Hox and company. Angel sighed. “But. Not by blood. And I accept dat. So. Honey. Don’t feel like ya’ gotta _make_ me feel better, just cuz.”

“Too bad for us both,” Jack smirked. “Because I’m not _just_ saying it.”

Angel sniffed. “Heh.”

He pressed his arms around Jack and hugged him tight. “Thank you. Y’don’t know. . . how that feels. Means everythin’.”

Jack returned the embrace, although stiffly. “I’m getting the idea.”

Angel broke the hug and looked his son over. “No, _no,_ Junior baby, I can’t. . . s’hard fer me to get it all across. I wanna’ be happy and I wanna’ apologize and. . . agh, shit. M’terrible at dis. Just. Fuck. Lettin’ you go was d’hardest thing I had to do in forever. And I hated m’self for not bein’ there t’protect you!”

Jack opened his mouth but Angel shushed him.

“I want dis’ t’be happy. But I can’t until ya’ know, hon, how much it hurt me. You mattered t’me like I ain’t never believed. You and Nugsy are my little trash babies. I shoulda’ been there. I shoulda’ protected you.”

By this, Angel referred to Jack’s passing.

“I don’t blame you for it,” he said.

Angel shook his head. “It wouldn't matter t’me if ya’ did. You’d be right to! I ain’t lookin’ fer, I dunno, forgiveness, cause it ain’t fair t’you. You have every right. But no matter what ya’ feel now, Junior, baby, I love ya’, like I ain’t never loved before. Seein’ y’back like dis, I can’t believe it. . . but I’ll take it. Because I _love ya’._ M’pride and joy, even if I only been with ya’ for a little while.”

As his adoptive motherfather spoke, Jack could make out the muffled, distant destruction of Exterminator noises off in the City distance. It had already started, looked like. He grimaced internally, briefly imagining one of _them_ threatening the spider or any member of his family.

“Well. I _don’t_ blame you,” Jack repeated. “Eternity is too long for blaming.”

Angel managed a teary smile. “You’ze amazin’, ya’ know dat?”

Jack wasn’t one for long form speeches. “Hardly. But I mean what I say. You’re my family. Mother, father, all that. Besides, I didn’t even know my actual mother.”

The spider glanced to the side, crossing his multiple arms. “I did.”

That admittedly surprised Jack. “What? Really? When?”

Angel waved a hand. “Eh. Long ways back when me and yer’ daddy was still datin’. She kicked in here. _Literally._ Uhm. Heh. She’s kinda’ th’reason we _found you.”_

He looked at his son. “I’d understand if, ya’ know, you wanted t'meet her.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe. What was she like?”

Angel grit his fangs and was tempted to say what was on his mind. But this was his boy, so, honesty was better, he loved Junior too much for anything else.

“Mean,” he answered. “Really mean. She put it to Anon bad. Dey weren’t good for eachother. Just bad habits hittin’ bad habits. I uh. Think she still had some feelins,’ but was all fucked up about it.”

Angel cleared his throat. “Needless t’say, I hate the bitch and I hope she falls offa’ cliff.”

“She doesn’t have a compelling resume.”

Angel tossed his head side to side, eyelids closed. “It’s my ‘pinion of the she bitch. But it don’t mean ya’ can’t meet er’. Dat’s your right.”

Jack put his hands on his hips and laughed. He didn't have a full profile of his adoptive spidermom, but he know Angel was a sardonic asshole at most times. This was. . . good to hear from him. “Aren’t _you_ supposed to be the immature one?”

Angel’s eyelids snapped open and he dawned an expression of mock horror. “Guh! Ohmygod yer’ right! M’losin’ my touch!”

“Clearly.”

The spider granted himself a self-amused chuckle, before clearing his throat. “Uh. Yeah, well, I mean what I say. So many things I wanted to do with ya’, and heh, it almost feels a little. . . late?”

Jack shook his head. “Never too late. I’d like that. What, play catch or something?”

Angel tapped his chin. “Was thinkin’ of takin’ you’ze out to get a proper choppa’. And ya’ know. Settin’ you up at the clubs.”

He winked. For once, Jack flushed. “Oh.”

“O’course. . .” Angel continued, his tone darkening. He swung his gaze towards the Hellhound, Mynerva, who seemed to be in a slightly intoxicated card duel with Husk.

“Looks like you'ze took care of dat’ already, eh?”

Jack looked over to Myn and she shot a quick look his way too, but they respectively broke this stare fast, in quiet fear of Angel’s wrath.

“Uhh. Well.”

Angel clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ gawd, horny ass motherfuckin' pooch.”

Jack scratched his head. “Sorry, it just sorta’ happened.”

“Y’wrap yer shit? Protection is important.”

Jack’s throat caught. “Wha? Eh, mom. . .”

“She better’ve been a good lay, too. What she’d do? She treat’cha right? When I got busy wit’ yer old man, I worked his dick over first. I mean, he sorta’ paid me, but first impressions are important.”

“ _Mom.”_

Angel looked over and stared the Hellhound down. “Eh. She's got good tits at least. Ye’ get some of dat?”

“MOM.”

Angel stopped. Then grinned, then snorted with laughter. “Aw hun, c’mon, of all da’ fucks you can tell, it’s me. What yah think I’mma embarass ya’?”

Jack felt hot. “Considering the circumstances. . . a _little bit.”_

The spider smiled and granted a doting peck on Jack’s cheek. “Aww. M’little cutie.”

He paused, briefly taking out his Hellphone, noting the time. A bit past midnight. Things were underway, and even for all the decades Angel was in Hell, he didn’t like to think about it. He looked over to the crowd of people, who all seemed preoccupied – or were doing their darndest to stay distracted. Charlie was very clear - stay together. But. . . it was also the Hellidays still, right? Lights and tinsel were still up. Angel didn’t want to think of what was going on outside, soooo. . .

Yeah, he could right? Wouldn’t be but a minute. “Hey, just ‘membered. I didn’t have much time, but, I gotcha’ something, fer ya’ knew the occasion.”

Jack was attentive. “Yeah? You didn’t have to.”

“Well, I _did._ It’s in m’room. I sure could use a handsome bodyguard t’protect me so I can get it!”

Jack paused, hesitating. Not that he had any level of respect for authority, Above or Below, but he understood the need for safety. Then _again,_ it was what, a quick walk upstairs? Besides, he could spend more time with his father-mother. He never got to before like this. It was nice.

“I’ll get dad,” he joked.

That aside, Angel shook his head. “Naw, naw, I got somethin’ fer him too but, you first, all right?”

Jack didn’t protest. With a look over to everyone, the pair left briskly. They weren’t noticed, though it wasn’t anything to be concerned with. There was a strange nostalgic value to it all as well, strolling up the stairs and through the halls. Both hadn’t done this in what was basically a lifetime.

At one of the doors, Angel stopped and knocked at it. “Guh. Wow. Yep. Dis’ is where yer daddy holed up. S’weird how empty it is now.”

Jack was close to his Angel’s side, an instinctual desire to protect the spider overtaking him, regardless of absent danger. “Do you like where you are now?”

“It’s a shitshack,” Angel commented, moving along. “But _I love it.”_

He tugged at Jack. “Especially with m’boy back.”

Jack smiled but said nothing. Eventually, they reached Angel’s room, where he parted the door and briefly entered. Most of the interior had been stripped down. There were a few things he left for comfort on those rare, _rare_ visits back, but, it was no longer the pink coated room with bar-globe, closets, fixings, and other fancy arrangements. Just enough.

On the bed, however, there were a pair of objects: two small boxes.

Jack entered as Angel went to the bed, taking one of said boxes, holding it like a precious gem. “Okay. . .”

Angel Dust drew a long breath and exhaled, turning around to face his adoptive son.

“I ain't super good at the gift thing. Like, that _means_ somethin’, so. . . it ain’'t the best, but.”

He pushed the box to Jack. “Merry Christmas hon.”

In appreciation, Jack took the small box and opened it. Within was a small, metal shape. A necklace? Shaped like a heart, it appeared?

“Look. Junior. Honey. . . I’mma be honest. I don’t know shit ‘bout this stuff Chuck’s doing. And eternity is a long fuckin’ time. Dunno’ ‘bout none of it. I love you and yer dad so fuckin’ much it hurts. I love Nugsy and my friends, but. Shit baby, what happens t’morrow?”

He shrugged. “Ain’t got a clue. Anyway.”

He tapped the locket. “I got that custom made. On dat’ heart, on that little thing. . . is somethin’ only for you. When you look at dat, yer gonna’ see a symbol. It’s a piece of me. Literally.”

Jack blinked. “Mom?”

“Nobody but you can see it. The thing I got made, only works fer a specific person. In dis’ case, that’s you. So, baby, no matter what happens. Tomorrow, today, any of dat. . . just know the thing ya’ see is a mark you have, and only _you_ can have. It’s what we are, as a family.”

Jack took the metal and clenched it in his fist, hard. He was terrible with words, so. . .

He embraced Angel Dust, his mother-father. Said spider grunted, squeezed _quite_ harshly.

“Hlllgf, guessin’ ya’ like it?” he wheezed.

Jack relaxed his hug and looked up to his adoptive parent. “I’ll keep it. Always.”

Angel beamed, filled with a sense of pride and parental adoration. Warmth and a desire to share that warmth with his kid overtook him. Then, he snickered.

“Heh. Whew. Glad ya’ fine with it, cuz’ I was gonna’ get you’ze a hotrod instead!”

Jack allowed himself a small chuckle. “Well, don’t rule anything out.”

He also seized the moment, realizing he hadn’t told Angel his elected name. “And it’s Jack.”

Angel’s expression shifted, frowning. “Mnuh?”

“My name is Jack.”

Angel blinked. “Oh.”

Perhaps there lingered a forlorn melancholy to the realization. After all, a progenitor chooses the name for its spawn. And though Angel wasn’t _technically_ bound to his adopt by blood, he still saw himself as a parent, obviously. Jack? Wasn’t his first choice.

But he respected it. “Aww. Well. . . you’ze always gonna’ be my little baby Junior, mmkay?”

“I’m never gonna’ get away from that, am I?”

“Nope.”

The spider chuckled, going to the bed briefly and snagging the other box, stowing it away. “Gonna’ give dis’ one to Anon. Same idea. So, don’t tell!”

A nod. “Secret’s safe.”

Here, the two would’ve exchanged another kind word or two and returned downstairs. Would’ve enjoyed the rest of the night in relative peace, ignoring the cleanse occurring outside. But in Hell, it was never that simple.

A deep, groaning vibration followed soon after, a bestial rumble shaking the entirety of the Hotel as a loud, muffled explosion rocked the building from base to top. Lights violently flickered and dust snaked from the ceiling, a colliding force quivering the floorboards. Darkness briefly came, a frantic and feverish blink indicating the mysterious explosion had enough impact to disrupt the Hotel’s power. Though, with the barrier Charlie put in place, there was no concern, right?

Angel forced a smile, giving a nervous chuckle. “Uh. Less’go back downstairs.”

Jack’s entire frame tensed. His smiles faded and his eyes narrowed. A dread familiarity blossomed in his chest. Wordlessly, he pushed out of Angel’s room and glanced down the halls. All seemed well?

Angel wasn’t having it though. “HEY! Don’t you fuckin’ runoff! Stay with me.”

At once the spider was at his son’s side, and he intended to keep him _right the fuck there._ “Let’s get back downstairs right d’fuck now.”

Jack said nothing. His teeth clenched. Instead of acknowledging Angel, he retrieved a device from his jacket. Within it was his helmet apparatus, a folding, complex machine shaped like a wolf-skull. It hissed to life when he thumbed on its activation place it over his head, sealing his face behind it. The lights flickered again, catching the silhouette of his youthful but strong figure, strobes of red edging the helmet as its sockets coalesced in bright, scarlet LED orbs.

Angel didn’t like that one bit. _“What are you doing?”_ His voice betrayed fear more than anything.

Jack looked up.

Ballsy motherfuckers.

In a glinting, wailing shriek of white-hot Seraphic metal, a missile drove itself through the Hotel rooftop and ceiling. Save, it was not a missile, wreathed in holy auras. A figure of angelic armor collided into the floor, sending splinters of old wood into the air, clouded by a veil of dusty fog. Its dread wings expanded, a split halo adorning its head, a shimmering, silver spear in one hand. The figure paused, then slowly rose erect, an LED mask stretched with a mocking, terrorizing grin. There were hints of multi-colored blood splattered upon its armor. An Exterminator had breached the barrier.

Its preceding “arrival” forced the upper walls and infrastructure to collapse, a hill of skeletal debris falling behind and around it. Angel and Jack were cut off from the others.

The Exterminator rose, gazing around before affixing its electric stare upon the opposite figures. At once, at stared Jack down. Its body flexed and it pointed its spear-end at the young man in accusatory fashion, while a spree of words left its mask. To sinners and demons, the tongue was unrecognizable, a language impossible to recognize by those confined to Hell – the language of Seraphim.

Jack understood it perfectly, however.

_< <LEGIONIONARRE!?>> _

He made no motion that he was intimidated or surprised. “Hello there.”

_< <TRAITOR!!!>>_

With calm, decisive motions, Jack deftly flicked into his jacket for a weapon. Not his firearms, no, not for an Exterminator. Rather, he unsheathed a molded knife, a terrible shriek of dread metal, a searing strip of red steel that burned the very air it touched.

He raised it defensively. “Stay here and die,” Jack threatened. “It’s that simple.”

Quiet, if only for now.

[Deafening, horrible quiet.](https://youtu.be/7eRxhfoHEws)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie should've locked in auxiliary power


	5. Exsanguination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack reveals something to Angel Dust while Charlie defends the Hotel.

**V**

A glimmering horror.

In his decades living in Pentagram City, Angel Dust had never been so close to one of them, one of the _Exterminators._ Not that he was looking for selfies or had some morbid fascination to “get a feel” for them. Exterminators exterminated, the rest sold itself.

But now this.

A palpable mix of shock overcame him, even fear. The bright, Seraphic metal coating the angel’s body burned his eyes just to look at, inspiring a sense of beautiful dread. These were the beings that came to the Envy Ring every year’s end to exact their duties, to commit depopulating genocide, the boogeymen, the nightmares, the fables. In life, they said you had your own guardian angel. In death? Guess it was a different story.

Angel scrambled to his feet, the shockwave from the Exterminator’s impact having toppled him over. Terror swept through him, but not because he feared for himself. The only bulwark between the spider and certain true death _was his son. No._ No, no, _not again._ Not on anyone’s life was Angel about to experience a repeat of the past.

And yet _,_ Jack didn’t give a right shit.

“Junior!?” Angel called out. Much like the alien sight of an Exterminator, there was something else he could scarcely process: the _defiance_ of his son.

Jack was unafraid. From his stance to the steady control of the knife he wielded, his defiance of what should instead inspire terror took even the spider aback. He glanced behind his shoulder, unmoving.

“Stay behind me.” Jack said.

Angel gawked. “What? W-what, _no!_ Fuckin’ _run!”_

God help these agents of death, Angel would fight an army of them to protect his boy, even if it meant certain doom. He prepared to summon a barrage of weapons, but at the _slightest_ movement, the Exterminator shifted, directing its attention to Angel in a snap motion.

The Seraphic agent brandished its glimmering spear in a crescent flash, aiming it towards Angel as it levied the weapon and made a dashing lunge, instincts to slaughter overriding everything else. To anyone else in any other moment, this would be the last thing they ever saw, the rictus-grin of an LED visage married to the pale wings of a heavenly killer. But this wasn’t anyone else. Instead of demise, a sharp, painful metallic scream filled the hallway as red-hot metal scraped against the spear’s pole, angry sparks fireworking from the meeting of weaponry.

In a swift, agile motion, Jack put himself between the attacker and his adoptive mamadad, holding the spear at bay with his red-metal knife.

“And how exactly did you think that was gonna go?” Jack chastised as the Exterminator’s focus shifted to him, aghast.

_< <You DEFEND them, Legionnaire!?>>_

_Jack_ swung his arm up to break the hold and in a disarm sweep, scraped the edge of his weapon across the attacker’s armored torso. To a regular demon, such attacks were an amusing waste of time. For Jack, the knife sliced through the armor like flesh, piercing the protective shell and the holy body within. A horrid, mutant shriek escaped the Exterminator, voice distorted by its LED mask as it stumbled back. Not from a deathblow, but from the audacity of an _injury._ The sheer, unbelievable reality that something in this wretched city had pierced its holy armor, that any such fiend could defy the will of the Exterminators, was in itself a grand indignity, worse than death.

Bright, almost neon blood dribbled into the ground, pooling into a luminescent puddle. Angel boggled. His mind blanked, a painful reality confronting him that, in this moment, he was helpless but to watch.

_< <You’ve scarred me. . .>>_

Jack diligently flipped his knife through fingers. “It gets worse.”

_< <Traitor! Vile, impudent brat! You’ve inflicted. . . you have dared to harm me! They will never let me live down this shame!>>_

Jack tilted his head. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You won’t be living, at all.”

At once, he dove forward, taking the offensive. The Exterminator snapped out of its shocked stupor, preparing to defend itself as it swung horizontal, hoping to meet flesh in a single, precise cut. Instead, it “impacted” Jack’s jacket, but did not pierce it. Quite the opposite. Like a polarized magnet, a field of snaking red electric energy coalesced around the point of reproach, a deflecting force which caused the spearhead to bounce off. Worse for the Exterminator, its applied force circled back into the deflection, channeling through its arm and causing it to lose control, spreading its stance wide and exposed an already injured body.

_< <What. . .>>_

A creeping figure of death swam into the Exterminator’s view, a young man wearing black, his head like the skull of a wolf, black and abyssal, seething electric eyes of scarlet boring into the Seraphim. The Black Wolf raised forth its dreadful red claw, its knife, and in a clean, cutting slice, struck the Exterminator's neck.

And so, the angel fell.

A small geyser of bright blood formed a pillar of holy viscera as the Exterminator crumpled to the ground, its heavy armor rattling the weakened hallway floor. Jack stared, watching the life evaporate from his foe as the LED mask flickered, eventually fading to a hollow, black screen. Silently, he dusted the side of his jacket and put away his weapon, turning to Angel Dust.

“Are you okay?”

Angel Dust blinked. “Y-yeah. Uh. Yeah. Wish I brought some popcorn, h-heh.”

A weak smile formed on the spider’s face, a mix of relief and pride replacing the flash of terror. But something else was there too. How. . . did Junior do all that? He was a punk kid not long ago that made knives out of fucking garbage and rubber bands. This was different. He knew what he was doing. He was _armed_ for it. And the Exterminator was _speaking_ to him?

No, no, no _._ Whatever. Didn’t matter. Not important, right? His boy was okay. He was okay! So, what, Junior could handle himself in a rumble, fine, great, good! Angel dusted off his holiday clothes and looked behind him, pushing the troubling thoughts away. They were still blocked off.

“Fancy jacket,” Angel remarked, “y’got an extra one?”

Jack took off the helmet as it hissed and folded close. “Oh.”

He looked up from where the Exterminator had punched through, the horizon of deep ride shining through like a bloody, faded ray of light. It was an extensive, cavernous hole having pierced the many Hotel floors. Looks like Charlie’s barrier had gotten disrupted, maybe from the impact of an explosion? If one could get in, others might follow.

Jack removed his article, then, offering it to Angel. “Here, you should wear it until we’re safe again.”

Angel chuckled. “Hon, I was just kiddin’!”

A head shake. “It’s a custom. It polarizes and reflects Exterminator weapons. I can take care of myself, but, I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Angel looked at the offered fabric of hybrid leather. He took it with an air of apprehension. How and why did Jack have this? “Er. Thanks.”

Jack returned his attention to the wounded Hotel. “More might show up, so we need to get back to the others.”

Angel put the jacket on, relishing its snug fit. It was, though, far heavier than he expected, and he could make out the timid, audible hum of energy running through it. Its pockets were layered with weapons and god knew what else. Heh. Pockets.

“Oh, shit,” Angel remembered, the buzz of the attack fading. “Lemme’ call Anon!”

He fished out his Hellphone and dialed for his husband, though, the phone only returned distorted static. “What th’fuck?”

“Exterminator interference, probably.” Jack guessed.

Angel clutched at his chest. He was okay, and by proxy, Anon would know he was okay. Their gift to each other was their souls forever bound, emotions and sense of surroundings included. But if he wanted to keep it that way, he and Jack needed to return to Charlie.

“Elevator at the other hall end,” offered Angel, pointing down the way. “I’unno, that’er we givin’ these vents a colonoscopy.”

The distant, muffled ambiance of the Exterminator chaos washed over them. Jack, in response, pulled out a modified Deagle and gestured to Angel. “Works for me.”

-*-

“What just happened!?”

Vaggie’s eye snapped wide open, the echoes of a distant explosion rumbling the floor. Holiday decorations jingled with frantic shakes, a few falling to the ground amidst cries of surprise. The thunder of collapsing walls and Hotel masonry followed swiftly after, punctuating a dreadful realization: something pierced Charlie’s protective barrier. The only possible _something_ was an Exterminator.

Lights flickered, switching off entirely, surrounding the downstairs group in darkness. They returned not long after, but it was clear the impact had caused serious disruptions in the Hotel’s power grid. Charlie’s features stretched with panic. When the noises subsided, she looked around the gathering.

“Is everyone okay?”

Vaggie came to her at once, for both support and fear. A disgruntled murmuring was her response.

“Goddamn, did the fuckin’ roof fall in again?” groused Husk.

“That sounded messy!” chirped Niffty, bouncing in the air as her single iris shrank. “I HATE MESSY.”

Charlie grimaced. A blossom of terror formed in her chest, then, denial. Couldn’t be! This wasn’t happening! Those were her first thoughts.

. . .but. This was Hell. A place of curses and pain. All that she’d seen in the previous year, and the many before that meant there was no reason to think optimistically, awful as it sounded. No, it paid to be practical. She could spend the next several minutes fighting with herself, fighting with reality, but why? Was it so farfetched to believe her friends were _once again_ in danger? They were scarcely safe in her doors as it was. She could flail about, despair, give into fair, all the things her _Father_ would expect her to do. . . but no.

If she wanted to protect everyone, she had to accept the situation for what it was.

Dammit. All she wanted was a nice Christmas and New Year.

“We should probably postpone the party for a little while,” Charlie said to everyone, her face solemn. “Okay?”

She thought for a moment. If Exterminators got into her Hotel then a simple panic room wouldn’t do. So what then?

A static laced tone interjected. Alastor adjusted his monocle, making a feint gesture towards the Hotel entrance. Through the stained windows, silhouettes of angelic forms were visible, advancing towards the building, much in the way they cared little for the Magne girl’s “barrier.”

“Hmm, did you by chance inquire about some new staff, miss Magne?” he said with a growing grin and hearty chuckle.

Charlie blinked, following his gesture. _Oh fuck._

“Oh _fuck.”_ She said, eyes narrowing.

Okay, fine. _Fine._ She huffed and rolled up her sleeves, preparing to take command of the situation. And-

“Where’s Angel?”

Anon’s voice shook her concentration. She glanced back to the silhouette; his face set with the growing tremors of panic.

. . .she hadn’t remembered the last time the spider was absent in proximity to his husband. Looking around, yep. No spider. A more disquieting realization: _no Junior._

Charlie grimaced and rubbed the bridge of her nose. No Angel Dust or their adoptive son? And _where was the worst possible place they could be?_ Devil, okay, _fine then too!_ So, get everyone out of harm’s way then get to Angel and Junior?

She thought to say something. But what? She knew Thief.

He rubbed his head. “Where’s. . . fuck. _Shit_.”

His gaze lanced into Mynerva. “Hey!” The expression said it all: get the fuck over here and why weren’t you doing your job!?

Charlie raised a hand. “Wait, _wait._ Anon, please, before you do something _stupid. . .”_

Thief didn’t listen, his bodyguard called over in obedient fashion. “Not gonna happen,” he tossed back. “and relax.”

He glanced towards the stairs. “I was Hotel Security, remember?”

Loathe Charlie was to let anyone run off and put themselves in harm’s way, but Anon wasn’t wrong. And Angel and his son couldn’t be too far off, right? If he could get them quickly, it would be okay. _Hah._ It’d also be okay if this wasn’t happening to begin with.

“Don’t be suicidal, ya’ moron!” Husk growled.

“Uh, you sure ‘bout this, buddy?” Hox added.

Thief shook his head. “Nope.”

At this, Mynerva’s ears perked and she let off an audible ‘eep.’ “As your security advisor, I recommend the path that doesn’t put us in mortal danger.”

Thief quieted her with a glare.

More static laced tones. “So, assuming you haven’t outsourced, miss,” chortled Alastor as a crowd of electric laughter followed his words, “then I’ll _also_ assume these guests weren’t invited?”

The Exterminators were drawing closer.

“There’s nothing worse than a wet blanket on a grand ol’ shebang!” added the Radio Demon.

Time was once again working against Charlie, but what else was new? She considered her options: she had few. Gazing at Alastor, the Magne girl sighed in a can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this sort of way, but a dire moment required a dire solution.

“I need to get you all to safety!” she said, adopting a commanding tone. “And. . .”

She looked over Alastor. Ugh, really? Was there no other option? Charlie cleared her throat despite the impending approach of the Exterminators.

“Alastor! I hereby command you use your, uh, magic, weird, voodoo bullshit to get everyone out of harm’s way!” she said with a series of finger wiggles.

Said Radio Demon utterly sneered, tossing his head back with a single laugh. “Miss Magne, you’re asking little old me for help? Oh, I feel so _overjoyed_ you’re placing in faith in this poor ol’ sinner!”

“ALASTOR.”

This insistence was met with frightened resistance, especially from Vaggie. “Wait, wait, no, _NO!”_ she exclaimed, making an x-mark with her arms. “This is exactly the kinda’ thing he’ll take advantage of!”

Charlie’s expression was hard and set. “No time.”

Alastor summoned his staff and twirled it in theatrical fashion. “Dear sweet Vagatha, you don’t trust me? After _all_ we’ve been through?”

“I trust you!” exclaimed Niffty, gyrating in the air. Her response was not met with the same enthuse, instead incurring grunts and grumbles of discontent.

“A few boos from the gallery. Not great, not terrible.” mused Alastor, tapping his pallid chin with scarlet talon.

He cleared his throat, looking around. “Well, we need a right quick exit, stage left. And as _much_ as I’d _love_ to stay and give these hecklers a ripe toss off, I’d _hate_ to see my fellow deviants put in harm’s way, ahaha!”

Charlie crossed her arms. “Just do whatever it is you have to do!”

Alastor glanced to an empty space and with a swift gesture tore a sliver of burning red energy through the air. Like a wound to flesh it pulsed, a tear of electricity, before slowly thrumming to life and splitting ajar. Symbols and arcane Voodoo sigils flocked about it before a wide, oval shaped entry point shifted into reality, leading to a dark, lightless oblivion. Or, rather, it was still the Hotel, but through the improvised portal, shapes and colors and sounds were muted, wreathed in darkness. A place not here nor there, but In Between.

“Normally I’d charge tickets, but this little gangbanger demands free entry!” laughed Alastor, adjusting his monocle, his face darkening and stretching with a hideous rictus grin. He made an excessive bow, holding out his arm to the crowd for them to go through, like a butcher to its flock. Fortunately for them, he was absent of cleavers.

Husk’s hackles flared and he stepped away, wings flapping. “I ain’t goin’ into that shit!”

Charlie was not amused. Her eyes flashed with a deep, menacing red, a snarl gripping her visage. **“GO.”**

Between a genuine article of Luciferean wrath and Alastor’s mystery death portal. . . there were no other protests. At once, the crowd shuffled into the Deer Demon’s patented In Between, the residents vanishing into the rift of darkness until all were accounted for, save for Vaggie.

The silver haired demonette didn’t budget. “Charlotte. . .”

The Lucifer girl raised a single digit, not looking at Vaggie, then pointed towards the gateway. She didn’t move, her attention set to the shadows gliding towards her home. If anything, Vaggie felt the tiniest sliver of fear before going into Alastor’s portal. Once all were within (minus two), Alastor dusted off his hands.

“There we go,” said Alastor, a radio applause surrounding him. “Miss Magne, I bid you an adieu. Don’t go getting yourself killed, that would be _such_ an inconvenience.”

Charlotte’s horns protruded to their full state. **“Keep them safe, or there will be no place in Heaven or Hell you can hide from me.”**

Alastor paused.

“. . . _that’s more like it, my dear.”_

In a puff, Alastor swung his arms behind him and wandered into the In Between, leaving Charlie to herself. Anon and Mynerva had readily left but, that was expected. No reason to think the shadow would do otherwise, and she’d trust him to be sensible, at least.

_Hah._

Her time to reflect was brief. The tree she set up limped to the side, decorations fell, and a sense of frustrated pain overtook her, the same one she felt every year, every time, for so long. And once again, these “angels” had come to her world to extinguish her people. Worse yet, they were at her _Hotel._ She clenched her pale hands, so hard a dribble of blood dripped free from each palm. Not. Here.

A warp of small explosions broke the silence, the front of the Hotel yanked open in a glittering display of shimmering, bright lights as a pair of Seraphic figures emerged from the acidic fire. Floating on their dread wings of armor and metal, crowned in halos and bearing those same, mocking LED expressions, the lithe figures floated into the Hotel foyer, armed with their weapons of exsanguination. Swiftly, their gazes fell to the lone Lucifer girl.

Charlie stared them down, a heat rising in her like nothing she’d felt before. She had tapped into a similar, raw vein of her Luciferean rage when the fiendish Sarakk assailed her home, yet this? Staring upon the beings which tormented her people for longer than she could remember? Charlie could taste bile.

**“Leave. Now.”**

Behind the assailants and wailing debris of the Hotel entrance, the skies were littered with the distant shadows of attacking angels, intermixed with the ever-audible screams of perishing sinners. Fires, chaos, and a genocidal purge overtook the normally indulgent horizon, a deadly reminder that this was the fate and deal assigned by The One Above.

Charlie felt her eyes well up and sting with hot tears, a weeping rage consuming her. Twin horns of burning red jut from her usual charming features and a fanged grimace stretched her mouth.

 _< <Child of Lucifer. . .>>_ one spoke, its implacable, holy tongue a loathsome pain to hear.

 _< <Spawn of a traitor and host to one.>>_ the other said, pointing its spear at her in judgmental fashion.

 **“Invaders,”** spat Charlie, **“I still believe in diplomacy. Begone from this sanctuary, or _perish.”_**

The Seraphic agents looked at each other, then back to Charlie. _< <You forget yourself. Your heretical namesake means nothing to us! You will die like the rest!>>\_

In a flash of motions, one of the attackers spun forth a pearlescent chain, upon its end a menacing morning-star. It swung the chainlink in furious display before lobbing the spiked dome towards Charlie, who did not move as the sparkling object crashed into her torso. It ignited in a terrible display of baptismal flames, white and ghostlike, engulfing her, reducing her to cinders.

Or so the attackers thought. From the miasmatic cloud, her silhouette remained whilst the strike retrieved its chained mace in admitted surprise.

Briefly, Charlie winced, flecks of pale fire crackling off her body, falling to one knee. Her vision blurred and she heaved a hoarse, enraged breath, scraping the Hotel floor with digits.

**“These. . . are what you use to kill my people with. . .”**

Her eyes flicked up, rims of furious gold wreathing around her body. **“For. . . as long as I’ve been alive you’ve done this!”**

In quizzical, fascinated confusion, the Exterminators were silent, rather astonished their weapons had no visible effect.

**“And now you come here? To my HOME? To strike _me_ down!? No, you will find I am no typical demon or sinner.”**

Charlie stood, arms playing to the side. She tapped into the raw, uncompromising power granted by her bloodine, the lineage of The Enemy Eternal, the one true fallen angel.

**_“I am Princess Charlotte Magne, Daughter of Lilith and Lucifer, Inheritor of Hell, and I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!”_ **

At once, a lithe, scarlet trident sprang into existence from Charlie’s hand, splitting the air with its raw, divine power.

 _< <Cease!>>_ commanded the Exterminator. _< <Dare you not raise weapons against His Blessed, for we->>_

Charlie swung the trident in a horizontal crescent arc, its banshee shriek tearing apart the sound barrier as a line of split energy cut the very fabric of reality. A precise, fissuring line struck the horizon, and in an instant, the Exterminators found themselves bifurcated at the torso. The very strike sucked all sound, life, and matter out of its surroundings if for a brief moment, only to rebound and shatter the air with a scream that sang the wrath of a girl watching her people suffer for longer than she wanted to know.

The assailants were not even given fractions of seconds to comprehend their demise, obliterated in a stripe of gold. In her strike, it cut through the snowfall showering Pentagram City, sending the rest of the Hotel’s holiday décor to the ground in an unceremonious clatter.

-*-

Jack dug his hands into the unpowered elevator split, shoving the doors open with a single, defiant motion. Angel blinked, once again taken aback at just how. . . _strong_ he’d gotten. He should be proud! And he was! But, also, _conflicted._ How was he doing this?

“Sooo. . .” Angel said, crossing his arms, protected by the heavy leather attire. Jack looked down the dark elevator shaft before returning his gaze to the spider.

“We can go down this way, right? Should lead us back to the others.”

Angel wasn’t thinking about it. “Yeah. Heh. You uh, been liftin’, hon?”

Jack tilted his head. “Er. Not exactly. We can talk later when we’re safe.”

Angel wasn’t satisfied. A knife that could kill an Exterminator, coupled with some fancy anti-Seraphic attire? Modified Deagles with specialized rounds? All this strength and training? And the way that Exterminator spoke to his son was disarming.

“Junior.”

Angel paused. “ _Jack.”_

Jack straightened. “What’s wrong?”

Angel thought about what he wanted to say. He should be grateful, really, was it worth prodding into all this? His son protected him. But he. . . protected him in a way that wasn’t adding up. Junior’s movements, equipment, fighting style, _everything,_ it was so precise and trained, as a solder might be. Last Angel checked, unless you were footin’ with a gang you couldn’t get expertise like that, and even then, gangs weren’t robust operations with military personnel, save for a rare few.

“Is there somethin’ ya’ wanna’ tell me?”

“No.” Jack said at once. “I want you safe, first.”

Angel snorted. “Baby boy, I can take care of m’self. And so can you’ze, looks like.”

“I’ve always been a scrapper.”

Angel narrowed his eyes. “Ya’ daddy used to try and hide shit from me all th’time. Ya’ too much like him. So, drop the act.”

Jack frowned. “. . .are you mad at me?”

Angel raised his hands, eyes wide. “No, no, no. Never with you! M’only a little um, concerned, sweetheart. I feel like ya’ hidin somethin’. Ya’ can do all dis shit, but, you was just a scrappy little thing when we found ya’. What gives?”

Jack was silent.

“Are you in trouble?” Angel continued. “Cuz’, baby, ain’t no fuckin’ thing in dis’ goddamn universe gonna’ hurt you. Not these fuckin’ termies, not nobody. We will protect you.”

Jack chuckled, looking at the dead Exterminator. “That’s my line. Evidence to the contrary, anyway.”

“Answer me.”

“No.”

Angel squinted. “Don’t lie t’me.”

Jack sighed, turned around and knelt at the shaft’s edge, reaching for the cable line. “A genocidal army of angelic freaks is murdering everyone they can find, mom. We’re _always_ in trouble.”

Angel had decades of bullshitting to know when he was being lead around. “Quit dodgin’ m’question! What’s goin’ on? Junior, honey, y’can tell me. I’m just wonderin’.”

Jack sighed, seeing as how Angel would be on him about it. “I have more in common with the Exterminators than I’d like. That’s all.”

“What da’fuck does that even mean?”

“It _means,”_ Jack said, standing, voice hardening, “if I stayed Up There for a while longer, then I’d be just like them. It _means_ I was meant to be a Legionnaire. All right?”

Angel’s mismatched eyes fluttered. Oh. He rubbed a hand through his hair floof. “. . .is dat all?”

Jack’s frown furthered. “Of course it _isn’t.”_

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he continued. “That I could’ve been one of them? A glorified butcher? That maybe I could’ve been sent to kill. . .”

He wanted to say, “you and dad,” but didn’t have the heart.

Angel sensed the pain, stepping closer. “Junior, baby, it killed us every day knowin’ we lost you. You’re here now, dat’s all that matters.”

Jack offered only a bitter, pained chuckle. “You know I thought. . . after I was gone, she would do something.”

His tone soured, and much like Angel sniffed it out when his husband was agonizing over something, he could hear it now too. “What?”

“She’s had the power to stop this, hasn’t she? For _years!”_ Jack persisted.

“What? Whattya’ talkin’ about?”

“Magne. The Daughter.”

Angel shook his head, raising his arms. “Whoa, hang on. Whattya’ mean, Junior? Just tell me.”

“I might be back, mom, but nothing changed, and _knowing_ she’s had this power, to stop it all, to let it keep happening. . . I don’t know what’s worse. Her judgment or her antiquated ideals of redemption.”

Angel crossed his arms. Jack was blaming Charlie for this? “Now, fuckin’ hang on, ya’ can’t be pinnin’ dis shit on her. It ain’t so easy, ya’ know that!

“Why?” Jack said, holding out hands. “Ignoring what they’ve done in the past, blindly, _stupidly_ disregarding the entire _graveyards_ they fill, the friends they butcher, the people that suffer. . . and I thought if I was dead, and she could see it happen to people she cared about, she’d _do_ something.”

“Jack. . .”

His features saddened. “Not a day went by thinking about losing you, when I came back. Or anyone. Not a day where I wasn’t watching the clock, waiting and biding my time And all this time. . .”

Angel stared, watching his son.

“What? It’ss too hard for her? Too hard to cross that line?”

His hand clenched. “If they had taken you from me, if _any_ of these Exterminators had hurt my family, then I would have done _nothing_ but scour Heaven and Hell until I’d erased those evil, death worshipping pyschopaths!”

Jack looked at the carcass of the Exterminator. “What if I wasn’t here? Right now?”

Angel wanted this conversation to shift. “Jack, please. You ain’t thinkin’ straight. Ya’ got every right t’be angry n’shit, but, ya’ think she can just. . . turn this stuff off ala solo?”

Jack wasn’t convinced.

A rush of sick fury ran through Angel. “ _Leave it alone._ Understand? It’s _done_. Y’sound like you’ze tryin’ to plan some bullshit, and ya’ need to _drop it!_ ”

“You can’t ask me to do that,” Jack protested. “After all the suffering? After everything that’s happened to you? Or dad, or _any_ of our friends?”

“Dat ain’t fer you to fuckin’ do! You’re our baby and our responsibility!”

The spider quieted himself, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t wanna’ argue, hon, not with you. Can we talk about dis’ later?”

Jack didn’t respond at once, looking back to the elevator shaft. “. . .c’mon, we shouldn’t stay around here.”

Quietly, ignoring the ongoing onslaught, the two descended the shaft in careful fashion with Jack taking extra care to keep an eye on his mamadad. Granted, Angel was a spider, so climbing was, naturally, effortless for him. They continued downward until reaching what was the first floor, though it was difficult to tell as the Hotel lights continuously flickered, additional explosions ransacking the building. Jack made it to the floor first, where an errant rumble caused Angel to momentarily lose footing and slip, though his son helped him down safely.

“Thanks,” Angel grumbled, “s’gettin’ fucky out there.”

Jack said nothing. Instead, he once again pried open the pair of stuck elevator doors which lead out to the first Hotel floor, though, they were still a ways off from the foyer.

“Aroo?”

The pair snapped their attention down the unlit hall. Two figures emerged from the dark, one tall with arctic white fur and the other near-shapeless save for the burning, single point that was his eye.

“There you are!” Mynerva shouted, padding into view. She spied Jack and gave him a once over, smirking.

“Hey _you.”_

Angel appeared from behind the young man. “Pooch!? Pull up ya’ tongue, horny bitch.”

“Thank fuck!” another voice said. Thief. He rushed up to his son and husband, wearing a relieved expression.

“Angel, Junior!”

Angel’s demeanor shifted immediately, waving to the silhouette. “Hiiii pockets.”

Thief gripped Angel by the shoulders in gentle fashion. “You ran off! Are you all right? Junior?”

“We’re fine,” Jack said at once. “For now.”

Angel threw a gesture towards his son. “M’better than ever. Our boy here, he fucking sliced a termie, no problem! Ya’shoulda’ seen it!”

Thief blinked, perplexed, then looked to Jack. “You killed an Exterminator? _An Exterminator got inside!?”_

“Yep,” Angel answered, smiling proudly. “He. . .”

The spider faltered off, remembering his conversation and realizing how it was all possible in the first place. “Um. Yeah. H-heh. Dat’s our boy.”

Didn’t take a genius to notice the hesitation and restrain in Angel’s voice, and for a moment, Thief thought to inquire further. But before he could say more, a shrieking, obliterating sound overwhelmed them as a scimitar of golden light erupted from the Hotel, visible through the windows. It came from the foyer, where Charlie was.

Mynerva’s ears flagged, eyes widening. “Are we sure that’s the way we wanna’ go?”


	6. Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone recuperates after the Exterminator attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one for this short series!

**VI**

A swarm of silvery, gleaming armored silhouettes drifted above the small building, their various LED visages flickering through a variety of perplexed expressions. Moments ago, two trusted and veteran Exterminators were sent to arrest and subdue the Daughter of the Traitor, in great part thanks to the shield-breaking strike of one brave comrade. Instead, all three were vanquished in a humiliating rejection of their holy will. From that place, that tiny red monolith calling itself the _Happy Hotel,_ a golden crescent of horrifying rage shot through, splintering the first vanguard of Exterminators as though they were petty imps.

In any regular instance of an annual Purge, this insult would _not_ be tolerated, met with devastating retribution. Perpetrators and resistors were captured, slaughter, and crucified, to make an example of. No Sinner would resist the righteous wrath of His chosen.

But. . .

From the debris of the Hotel’s entrance, even floating from their safe position in the sky, onlooking Exterminators could see the star of gold radiating a pure, Luciferan rage, married to a pale-white complexion and snarling face. Nay, they could _feel_ it. In one hand she bore a terrible trident, a dreadful thing none too dissimilar to the Tongue of Man. In her other, nothing, nothing but the fingers to assemble another wave of annihilating energy.

One Exterminator tilted its head, taking an assessment of the situation.

<< _We should call for reinforcements. Bind the traitor’s seed in chains! Were we to accomplish this, our names would be written in time itself!_ >>

Another with a more effeminate shape offered a sound like a discordant laugh. << _You weren’t paying attention. We aren’t dealing with some ordinary sinner._ >>

One more, their armor wreathed in gilded pearl and herald to four wings, crossed their arms. << _. . . no. No, I fear this is beyond us._ >>

<< _What?_ >>

<< _Fool that you are to forget her lineage and the divine strength of The Archangel. We were. . . not prepared_. >>

Several Exterminators looked toward them. << _The traitor seed slaughtered three of us! We cannot let that defiance go without retribution_! >>

<< _Two_. >>

<< _Hmm?_ >>

Four Wings shook their head. Though they could not _see_ him, they could _sense_ him. << _The traitor’s seed took two of our own. The vanguard. . . well._ >>

They stretched their unnaturally long arm to the side, gesturing to the city beyond them. Said Pentagram City was a picture of holy chaos. Pits of white fire decorated its roads amidst piles upon piles of sinner bodies, where the streets were sticky with multicolored blood. Entrails hung from buildings, sinners nailed and crucified in twisted, horrible shapes, their agonized screams a gentle hymn contrasting against the wailing sounds of Exterminator flight-and-strike. The sky was a bedazzling mass of sparkling silver shapes, thousands of thousands of Seraphic agents hanging in the horizon while they conducted their good works.

<< _We will not forget this. But come, another time. There is a purge to finish and the hour grows late_. >>

A few electric faces shifted to one’s of alarm. << _We’re not seriously just leaving, are we!?_ >>

<< _We are. Our holy work must continue. Remember, brothers and sisters, turn the other cheek so you may bear a second scar worth remembering._ >>

Once more, the dozens of gazes from the Exterminators leered down at the obstinate Charlotte Magne, who awaited their next strike. But they did not. They did not even speak a threat or spare a word, instead setting to drift away and find prey far weaker and easier to slaughter. For though His holiest agents dare not say it, think it, or even speak it, the truth was undeniable.

They were, at least in the smallest of ways, afraid.

-*-

Charlie was admittedly disappointed. She was looking forwarding to _rending the Exterminators_ into tiny, unrecognizable shapes of gore and shimmering metal. No such luck, however, as the flock of armored attackers drifted away, disinterested in a fight. Slowly, the specks of silver vanished into the horizon, back into Pentagram City to finish their cleanse. The time was almost up, and it was only a little while before the year’s annual extermination finished. Same old, same old. Same death, same pain, same suffering.

She sighed, glancing at her open palm, staring at the tendrils of paralyzing gold forming a corona around her curvy silhouette. This was so much easier, wasn’t it? This abstract, boundless strength. She could so much with it!

But then Dad would be right.

“Chuck!”

Like a switch, the shimmering wreathes of furious power snuffed out, Charlie’s horns vaporizing as did her scarlet forked weapon. She blinked, rubbing her head, before glancing over to the approaching sound. Angel Dust appeared, wearing an expression of surprise and delight, though he wasn’t alone. The rest were with him: Thief, Junior, and Mynerva.

Angel rushed forward first, eyes sweeping around as he noted the layers of destruction. Once again the Hotel’s front was a shambling wreck, both from the Exterminator attack and Charlie’s attacking rebuke. Holiday decorations were scattered about and a mess of lights and broken ornaments while the floor was singed with baptismal ashes and the corpses of fallen Seraphic agents.

“Shit girl, what kinda’ party was ya’ throwin’?”

Charlie smiled. “You’re okay!”

The spider laughed, jamming a thumb into his fluff. “Pffft, fuckin’ ‘course I am. What, ya’ thought one of dem’ freakies was enough to stop me, hah!”

Thief appeared at his husband’s side next. “Chuck? You’re all right?”

She offered a sad smile. Physically yes, but, her city was once again experiencing the very thing she worked against. “You know me.”

Thief looked at the warped foyer, immediately realizing what Chuck had done. That explained the loud bang he heard before. In the meantime, as Junior and Mynerva padded close, Charlie’s eyes widened with realization.

“. . .no one’s hurt?” she asked. It wasn’t a question of disappointment, but _surprise._

“Thank god,” Thief said. “Er. Well. You, your highness.”

“Yeah, uh, h-heh,” added Angel, briefly glancing to his son. “M’boy got me outta’ dat pinch and we stayed low.”

Mynerva blinked. “Wait, what?”

A timid pause formed. Jack sighed.

“It’s all right, mom.”

Angel swung his gaze to Jack and raised a hang. “Honey. . .”

“I took care of it,” said Jack to Charlie, ignoring Angel. No use in hiding it. “An Exterminator got through, but, it’s dead now.”

Mynerva looked the young man over and flipped back her white hair. “That’s kinda hot.”

Charlie’s eyes widened, if only slightly. “You killed one of them? By yourself? And you’re not hurt, _at all_?”

He shrugged, though his own expression held a presence of judgment to it. “I just did what had to be done.”

He looked to the debris and destruction, the clear physical indicators of Charlie’s familial strength. “Just like you.”

Angel fidgeted and splayed out his arms. “Ey, ey, who cares!? Everyone’s alive, right? We’ze fine, you’ze fine! So fuckin’ what if m’boy here gave one of dem’ grinny’ dips a toss off? Eh? I says ‘bout time!”

Thief wasn’t sure himself, but he supported Angel. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, Angel’s right. We’re all okay, that’s the important thing, right?”

“Speaking of. . .” He looked around. “Where is everyone?”

Charlie adjusted her suit, dusting it off, setting aside the topic of Junior’s capabilities for later. They were correct, anyway, and she was tired of this entire affair. The cleansing was so draining.

“They’re um. . . with Alastor?” she said with her own shrug and weak smile. “I’m sure they’re doing great!”

“Ya’ did what now?” said Thief.

“Everything will be okay!” she said with a hand wave. “We can trust Al. I think.”

A loud, bellowing sound cut through, the monotone drum of a clock striking the final hour, ringing throughout Pentagram City. So, it was the end of the old year and its Extermination. Charlie frowned, gazing around her home, its delightful blitz of lights and colors now a sad echo of what it was meant to be.

“Well,” she said, tone sober. “Happy New Year, everyone.”

-*-

Massive screens across Pentagram City flickered open as an array of doors, windows, basements, and cages unbolted. Demons and sinners of varying shapes emerged from their hiding spots where cleaners, collectors, carnivores, and vultures prowled the messy roads and buildings, picking off the lakes of viscera scattered around. The Countdown Clock flicked to its somber reset numeric, indicating “365 days” until the cycle would repeat and a new purge would follow.

666 News, of course, was quick to latch onto the events, Katie Killjoy’s smiling features appearing on screen with her co-host, Tom Trench. Banner ads and marques rolled underneath the televised event as the announcers hit their usual news beats:

“That’s a wrap for the annual purge, with the streets of Hell looking cleaner than ever! Scum and villainy were scraped right out of existence and once again Pentagram City is ready for a new influx of disgusting degenerates!” Katie would say.

“That’s right Katie!” intoned Tom, voice muffled through his gas mask. “No doubt every neanderthal and vagrant who made it through are ready to tumble for that ever-desired territorial grab! And _boy_ I can’t wait to see that rockin’ bombshell Cherri Bomb at it again, ohoho!”

“Hahah!” chortled Katie, maintaining her leer. “Get fucking laid, Tom!”

 _“Oh, and what’s this?”_ the announcer continued, folding her papers. _“It looks like with this Purge, that’s a pretty embarrassing rejection of everyone’s favorite royal runt, Charlotte Magne! Looks like things are still the same with no redemption in sight!”_

“Wow, that _is_ embarrassing!” added Tom, ignoring his co-host’s rebuke. “I guess believing in drug addicted prostitutes, drunks, violent criminals, and two-bit thieves is a _stupid_ idea!”

They shared a mutual laugh. “Up next, we’ve got the _hottest_ rumors regarding the latest power couple, and the City is _dying_ to know more about Sir Pentious and disgraced mob son, Arackniss!”

“Oh Pentious has a _power couple,_ all right!” said Tom.

The broadcast continued with other meaningless faff, included opened territories, weakened gangs, and ways to enhance one’s status in the city. Charlie looked on, arms crossed and mouth sagging with a frown. Damn woman couldn’t let it go, could she? But Katie was right. A year into her experiment and Charlie was no closer to her goals of unified redemption, if at all. She did her best to look at the bright side, tried to think about all the good she’d done for everyone here, how they’d grown in their own ways. But it wasn’t the end game, nor the end result.

And the worst part? One detail addled her mind, one that potentially contradicted _everything_ she worked towards. The son, the boy. He had perished in a horrible way, but his soul was reclaimed by Heaven, or so the story went. Thief Anon and Angel swore by it and what they saw, and she had no intention of questioning grieving parents.

But here he was, back again. Not as a sinner, but as a runaway. A _runaway._ He had, so it appeared, rejected his role in Heaven, and though he didn’t say what he was doing, Charlie could sense it. Junior was not sinner nor demon, she could _feel_ it. The same traces of Seraphic radiances fluctuated through him, the same in her own family lineage. So why? Was something wrong with paradise?

She might’ve buckled in a different place and at a different time. Given up her dream and returned to her Father so he could give one of his sneering “I told you so looks.” But she’d come this far. She’d find a way, she always did – redemption was too important to her, as was the safety and happiness of her people.

“Hey you.”

A soft and cool voice interrupted her thoughts. Charlie looked away from the room television to see Vaggie stroll in, holding a box.

“Oh, Vaggie! Sorry, was catching up with. . . current events.”

Vag laughed. “I think we’re about as current as we can get right now, hon.”

Charlie offered a weak chuckle while her girl presented the box, wrapped in gift paper. “Here.”

Charlie blinked. “What’s this?”

“For the holidays, you goof! We uh, got a bit sidetracked.”

Warmth returned to Charlie’s expression and she took it, starting to unravel and open it. “Aww. Thank you.”

When she saw its contents, her alabaster flesh went red. “W-wuh. Uh. Vaggie, this is um.”

Lace.

Vaggie only offered a wry smirk, touching Charlie on the nose. “It’s not for you. Thought you could use a little stress relief later.”

Try as she might, the thought of Vaggie in something like this was too much for even the Magne girl to resist. What was the alternative? Stay here and mope about the news? There was no point, for now. The year had reset, the holidays had finished.

It was like dad said: “Failing isn’t so bad. I made an empire out of it.”

Vaggie turned and sauntered away, a notable shake to her hips as she tossed her long silvery hair. “Coming?”

Charlie cleared her throat. “I will be.”

-*-

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“Fuckin _hell.”_

Angel and Thief planted themselves on a couch, shoulder to shoulder. Fat Nuggets squirmed and wiggled in the spider’s lap while the two cast a distracted gaze to the wall.

“That’s one way to celebrate a holiday, christ,” said Thief. “Here I thought it’d be simple, for once.”

Angel snorted. “Eh.”

“I’m sorry baby,” continued Thief. “I know you wanted this to be well, anything but another shitshow.”

The spider glanced at his husband, gave a small shrug and saved a hand. “Naawww, s’okay, pockets. M’used to it. Dis is Hell, not s’posed to be paradise. Besides, know what? Fuck it. _Fuck. It._ I DID have a good one! I got m’boy back. I got t’spend a Christmas not suckin’ on candy cane cocks fer money.”

“Uh.”

“I said _fer money,”_ the spider winked, patting Thief on the leg. “So, puttin’ it inta’ perspective, I’ll fuckin’ take it.”

“That’s pretty optimistic.”

Angel pet Nuggets on the head. “You ain’t?”

“Mmm. Hmm. No, I am. I guess when you say it like that, we gotta’ take what we can get.”

Angel leaned his head into Thief’s neck. “You’ze and me. Yer m’best pal, Anon, I love you. I think I’m gonna’ take it like dat, ya’ get me? I got you, I can fuckin’ deal with it. It’d be nice if we didn’t hafta’ deal will bullshit like somebody’s jackin’ off over our sufferin’, but whatever.”

He huffed. “It’s tough. But it’s gonna’ be like that.”

Thief chuckled. “I love you too, Anthony.”

He took in this moment, there here and now, the warmth of his spider flooding into them. Couldn’t be luckier than this.

“And our boy?”

“I love him. M’proud of him. M’scared.”

Thief blinked. “I think that covers the bases for parenting.”

“What, ya' not freaked out?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely terrified,” Thief said with a head shake. “He’s _trained._ He popped an Exterminator, didn’t he? He. . . well, he’s back and I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“I see me in him,” he continued. “Not the me I want to.”

Angel sighed now. “I know. But what. We gonna’ ground em’? We can’t stop em’, whatever d’fuck he’s trying to do.”

“We _can’t?”_

Angel groused. “I ain’t fightin’ my baby.”

The alternative seemed worse, but Thief didn’t disagree. It was hard. Wanting your baby to be safe and happy, but, not wanting to suffocate them. Junior – well, Jack – was a young man now. Certainly, the goddamn wolf had seen to that. But a literal screwing-the-pooch aside, his ambitions and mindset were clear, and, he had a goal, a path to follow, a hound of black on its own trail. Trying to stop him wouldn’t work, and would just make Jack resent them.

“Let’s just keep food in his fridge, at least.”

Angel laughed. “Haw! Dat’ll get em’. Once the eats run out he’ll be beggin’ to stay with us, neheheh.”

In their laughter, Thief remembered. “Oh. Peppermint. By the way, I didn’t forget.”

Thief reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small package, no bigger than his palm. It had a dainty little bow on it, where Angel glanced at it and took it with a warm, appreciative smile.

“I’m reaaaal shit at gift stuff, and I know it’s cheesy and predictable, but, here you go hun. To the most important fucking man in my life.”

Angel’s spare hands opened it to reveal a ring wreathed crowned with a pair of diamonds, one pink and the other black, where the shimmering silver halo had a single word etched into its surface in pearl white: _Anthony._

“Was tough given our circumstances, but, I love you. I say it, but, you’re all I ever need.”

Angel grinned. “Sappy dipshit. I love you.”

The spider pressed his soft, warm lips to his significant and embraced him, concluding their holiday celebration.

-*-

Jack looked out to the horizon, the stretch of black skyscrapers dotted with a myriad of reds and purples, its loud chaotic ambiance audible from the Hotel roof. Looking out at it, there was an admitted beauty to it. Vast and expansive, teeming with people, hosting buildings and towers that were decades, even centuries, old. If you could get past the constant anarchy, scheming Overlords, endless violence, and general misery, you could be forgiven for wanting to live in it.

With the annual extermination concluded, it was business as usual. Survivors would return to their routines while territorial fights would follow swiftly after, a system of death that benefitted only a handful.

“Pretty, huh?”

Jack hardly shifted as the curvy silhouette of a figure approached. “Mynerva.”

“Thought I’d find you up here doing the _brooding-city-gazer_ thing.”

Jack chuckled. “I’m not brooding, believe it or not. It _is_ pretty, when you ignore the other stuff.”

Mynerva sauntered over to Jack’s side, white-tail swishing, wearing a casual sleeveless black shirt cut at the midriff and matching shorts. “The other stuff? That’s a new one. Total shitfire usually suffices.”

“It doesn’t _have_ to be.”

Mynerva withdrew a toothpick and worked on her rows of gold, shimmering teeth. “Still ready to die on that ‘ambition hill,’ huh?”

“Are you _that_ surprised?” Jack gestured at the Hotel below. “Given what just happened.”

“Nope,” she smirked. “Just wonder if ya’ got a little perspective. It’s a tall order.”

Jack sighed. “Look, Mynerva, I. . . appreciate your uh, company. You’re, er. Fun?”

“Fun,” she snorted. “Ahaha, I’ll put that on a shirt.”

“Still, just because of that doesn’t mean I’m changing my mind on anything. If nothing else, I have to try. It’s not about power, I’m not like my dad. But I couldn’t be me and sleep at night and pretend it’s all okay.”

Mynerva raised her hands. “Whoa, hey now Jackie boy. You don’t gotta’ break out the podium, I’m not trying to wiggle your sails. I don’t need convincing.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. You can imagine most people down here think the idea is pretty stupid.”

“It is, but it’s a good kind of stupid.”

Jack smiled. “Base would have an aneurysm if it heard that.”

Mynerva blinked. “Huh?”

The young man paused, catching his words. He wondered if he’d said too much. Then, he looked at Mynerva, and his mind got a little fuzzy. She uh, had a nice waist, and the white and black contrast was cute. The gold teeth created this exotic hint of. . .

Yeah, ‘too much’ was waaay behind now. “It’s uh. A friend, I guess. I’ll introduce you, if you want.”

“Ya got friends?”

Jack laughed. “Oof. Okay, I deserve that one.”

She nudged him. “Oooonly bitin’ ya, Jack. You could make a lot more if you didn’t talk with a piece in your hand 24/7.”

“Well, when I don’t have to worry about being _stabbed_ 24/7, I’ll take you up on that.”

“Stick with me and you won’t,” she said with a wink.

He looked her over. “Aren’t you busy protecting my parents?” Finger quotes on protecting.

“Ugh,” Mynerva frowned. “Last thing I defended was their little pet pig from a fat bird that wouldn’t stop squawkin’ in the yard. It’s _boring._ I used to run these streets on wheels, had a little outfit with me and all. . .”

“And then _you_ stroll into the picture,” she continued, drinking his frame in. “All that motorcycle fetish and black leather, got those big-boy ideas.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Look, er, let’s maybe get to know each other before we. . .”

There was something he wanted to say and _thought_ to say, given how their previous “encounter” went.

“It’s a date then.”

“Uhh.”

Mynerva tossed her head to the city. “Seriously. _Jack._ Have some fun. It’s not _all_ bad. What’s that saying about all work, no play? Your name is _literally in the parable._ What exactly were you planning when this visit was over? Cause I can tell you aren’t the ‘board with my parents’ type.”

Jack scratched his head. “Uhh. Well. Training. I guess.”

“ _Riveting.”_

“Hey, this isn’t a joke.”

She waived a hand. “I know, _I know._ But you’ve got, let’s see, _all of fucking eternity_ for your ‘plans.’ Let yourself be you, for once.”

“What, you’re saying I don’t know how to have fun? I can have fun.”

Mynerva’s smirk shifted to a grin. “Show a girl a good time then.”

It was in this moment Jack discovered a fear he never considered: taking a girl out on a date. He had actually _died more_ than he’d taken a girl somewhere. Mynerva chuckled, sensing his mini-panic.

“Relax, pup. I’ll pick the place.”

“I could find one. Probably.”

Mynerva cast him an amused look.

“I _could.”_

“Trust my natural Hellhound instinct,” said Mynerva, “and the fact I’ve been on the streets longer than you. Down here, anyway.”

Jack pondered that tidbit. Stemming the tide and changing an archaic system required knowledge, _lots_ of it. More specifically, knowing the right people, or in this case sinners. She’d be more helpful than she realized, in that regard.

“Alright, you win,” he conceded. “Name the time, I’ll be there.”

“And what about before then?”

By this, she meant what was Jack planning to do. He looked at the City once more. “Won’t stay long. I wanted to see my family happy, and I think I got that covered.”

Mynerva quirked her brow. “Oh, what then? I gotta’ ask for your number? You’re not exactly easy to keep up with.”

Jack blinked. “. . .I don’t have one.”

Mynerva tossed her head in laughter before sighing. “Ohhh Jack, devil help you, cause the big man sure didn’t.”

She leaned over, pressed her warm, black lips to his cheek, tail swaying. “Don’t be a stranger. Stick around maybe, I’ll show you how to actually _shoot.”_

Jack felt his face got a tinge hotter as the Hellhound turned and sauntered away, waving in the air. “See you soon, Jackie boy.”

There was a notable exaggeration to her stride, hips tossed where the cut of her pants just hinted at the supple heft to her haunches. Jack cleared his throat, realizing he’d been staring.

-*-

Purges created opportunity. Opportunity lead to power.

Once again, the chaotic engines of Pentagram City roared back to life. The catalyst of possibility was presented to those who survived the annual extermination. Gangs looked to stock their numbers and take control of new spaces. Overlords schemed. Sinners blew a sigh of relief. In the center of it all, one Hotel still remained, a continuous project forever attempting to do the impossible: redeem the irredeemable. For now, it had yet to succeed. But, it had also yet to fail.

The New Year had finished. The Christmas holidays were behind Pentagram City. Snowfall lessened and blood spilled. A princess took note of the damages her home sustained and repaired them. A Radio Demon schemed and chuckled. A couple rejoiced at the return of their son. A flailing handful of Imps kept their assassination business alive. A trio of Overlords oversaw their next hit adult films and products. A Hellhound felt affection. A son planned.

[A city survived.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNq4DCusPaM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap (for now!) Devil's was an intermission piece akin to others I'd done in the past ala Obsesser and Honeymooners, a sort of epilogue story that served to set up things before the next big story.
> 
> With this comes an omission. . . big stories. After all is said and done, there's no reason, I think, to stop writing about HH. The community is amazing, I love writing for my readers and I feel like I've found my tribe. You guys gave me so much, I want to give back. The best part? It's all a natural continuation and there's a lot more to tell. Hope you enjoyed, because I might take us for another big spin!


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